The 62nd Annual Hunger Games: The Birth of Hope
by The Perfumed Thorn
Summary: Katniss Everdeen did not begin a rebellion on her own. She created an inferno from a spark that already existed; Welcome Audience to the 62nd Hunger Games. The games that created that spark, the games that gave birth to hope, gave birth to rebellion.
1. A Word of Welcome

_**Hey, **_

_**This is my first SYOT; After submitting so many tributes I have come to the conclusion that I will do my own story; I'm looking for you to submit the 24 tributes; If you're interested just drop me a PM and I'll forward you the Tribute Form. Seeing as I cannot be bothered with the hassle of Critics United if you submit via review, the review will be removed and your tribute ignored, or blood bathed if I'm struggling for numbers (Wow! That does sound harsh, oh well). **_

_**Thanks,**_

_**Lawrence xxx**_

It began 62 years ago. It was then that the 'Treaty of Treason' was published, it was then that The Hunger Games were born. The Hunger Games: A political weapon to punish the districts for the rebellion that was christened the 'Dark Days' by the corrupt government of the Capitol, atonement for their ancestor's sins. The Capitol call it a pageant, but this could not be further from the truth; these games are a plague upon the people who live in the districts of Panem, there is nothing beautiful or glamorous about murder, betrayal or death.

The treaty decrees:

'Each District must offer two tributes, one male and one female between the ages of 12 and 18 to compete in an arena; in a battle to the death. The last tribute standing will be named the Victor'

And so it has been that for the past 62 years each district has offered their tributes for this glorified bloodbath; for 62 years families have had to mourn for the loss of their loved ones and for 62 years the Capitol has had its entertainment. But this year the cycle may break, this year a rebellion will be born.

Grief, pain, anger, sorrow; these emotions plague the districts of Panem, held down by the oppressive hand of the Capitol; but this year there will a spark, a spark that gives birth to the most powerful feeling in the world: This year, there will be hope.

_**Sorry that it's so short; it's just a prologue, a taster of sorts. Please submit some tributes so I can get started on the real story; or just leave a review about how you think the prologue sets the tone for the story. Any thoughts or ideas, just let me know :D **_

_**The general format will be 12 reapings from a tributes perspective; another 12 tributes experience meeting their mentor and the train ride and then 6 tributes about their prep team and the chariot rides and then 6 perspectives for each training day. The one on one with the Gamemakers will be from the Gamemakers perspective and a Capitol POV for the interviews. This results in every tribute having at least 2 perspectives before the Bloodbath.**_


	2. A Precious Stone

**Beloved Readers, **

**You may or may not of noticed the disaster I faced with trying to upload the reaping chapters for Autumn and Seraphine. Well, to repay you for your patience I've decided to give you a chapter; because you're all so amazing and deserve it :P **

**So meet Ruby, the first of our careers...**

**Ruby Ashford, District 1.**

I can hear it in my head, the bang of the final canon; I can see the crimson blood staining my knife; I can taste victory: 'Panem, meet your Victor of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games: Ruby Ashford'. I am Ruby Ashford, and you may think I'm a dreamer but you couldn't be further from the truth. I am a realist for I will become Victor and no other pathetic excuse for a tribute will stop me.

I have waited my whole life to enter the games, to prove my worth. The games are not something to be feared as the lower, snivelling districts think; they are something to be celebrated; a thing of true beauty: like myself. How can people cry when they're reaped? It is an honour to enter the games, to represent your district and to be given the opportunity to kill without repercussions; it is a chance that I, personally, could never let pass. The arena, the weaponry, and the tactics: things I have dreamed of for years, and now I can make my dreams a reality.

Yesterday, oh it was the happiest day of my life to date, although I'm sure being named Victor and being showered in luxury will surpass it. Yesterday was the day that I, Ruby Ashford, won the honour of becoming the female tribute for district 1; and it was glorious, as are most things associated with me. You see, tomorrow no other female will be racing toward that stage because I have made sure of it. Flawlessly, as always. You see, spears and sword: they aren't the only weapons you need in the arena, a true victor manipulates every situation to their benefit and I did. Yesterday, my best friends were lies, blackmail and of course my physical prowess. You have to do whatever is necessary to make sure you come out on top, or so they say.

I am the perfect candidate for a tribute, for a career and for a Victor. I have it all; the looks, the charm and the ability to kill, indiscriminately. Sponsors will be falling over themselves to send me gifts; the male tributes will be falling over themselves to simply talk to me. Sometimes I think the world is so unfair, seeing as I am so perfect and really nobody else is. I have the classic beauty: golden blonde hair that waves to the centre of my back, the long legs which really do go on for miles, the pouted lips, the sparkling blue eyes the shape of almonds and the curves that stop any man in their tracks. Add the fact that I can handle any weapon I lay my eyes on with unparalleled skill and I'm willing to do anything to win and what do you have? The perfect tribute, me.

Ruby, a precious gem: a symbol of status, desirable. My name is just so fitting for me, for I am desirable; ask any of the worthless men here in my district. I am the most beautiful, the most envied and well, I'm simply the best and nobody would dare question it. And so we arrive here, today: Reaping day, the beginning of my new life.

I couldn't sleep lat night at all. My hands were tingling, poised to throttle some pathetic being; my eyes ached to witness the life fade from another tributes eyes; it was too much: the need to kill, to be feared to have someone begging for the mercy that I would never give them. I sat awake all night, devising new ways to kill the tributes, to slice through their frail skin with a thin blade laced with poison, to hear their screams and their pleas would be a pleasure that could be matched by none. I would give no one the easy death they anticipate when they enter the arena: I would torture each and every pathetic creature that crossed my path. And I will enjoy every second of it. Now, one must remember that the key to good torture is not the pain, but the ability to prolong that pain as long as humanly possible.

Since I couldn't sleep I revised the strategy that I would use in the games: the smiling throughout the chariot rides; the charm I'd have to employ during the interview, using the flawless answers I've had planned for years and of course my role within the careers. I'm guaranteed my place within the pack, the decision is whether or not I lead it; if I lead I automatically become a target, not that any of the other tributes would pose a threat. If I become a 'follower' the leader would more than likely screw things up. I pondered this decision for hours, playing out different scenarios: all that had me becoming the victor of course. In the end I decided to become the 'back seat driver', I'll allow some gormless male to become the leader and then manipulate him with my feminine wiles, effectively being the leader. See not am I only insanely beautiful, I have brains too. Seriously, could I be any more perfect if I tried?

The remainder of the night I spent deciding on an outfit for the reaping; it needed to be immaculate, just like me. It needed to say feminine but lethal; sophisticated but ruthless. After trying on a multitude of outfits, I was becoming insanely frustrated and my raging temper was beginning to flare. They were all beautiful per say, but just not right; they just weren't good enough to be seen draped across my toned physique. In public anyway. I was almost at the end of my tether, set to destroy my room and more than likely the whole of the 'Community Home'.

Yes, I am the orphan tribute but I don't need sympathy; I am better off without my parents, I had more time to spend on training my mind and body, not that I ever really needed it but I suppose every little helps. My parents were socialites and undoubtedly if they were to live, I'd have spent times at social events rather than training till my muscles scream in protest; which I had done every day since I had been allowed to study at the academy: The breeding ground for future careers. In no time I was the top of the class, at 14 I was sparring with 18 year old, even males; I had defeated Platinum Herzesky numerous times in the training ring and he went on to win the 59th Hunger Games: even more proof I had what it took to become Victor, even though I needed no more evidence.

Hours after hours blurred into one as I pondered how I was the perfect tribute, and what to wear to the reaping, eventually the sun began to shine brightly in the sky, a flaming orb. But my problems dissipated as I found it: The outfit. Glamorous, flawless and devastatingly beautiful; an outfit that literally screamed 'ME'.

I now stand before a mirror gazing at the reflection: Perfection, there was literally no other word to describe the ravishing beauty before me. The black satin dress clings to my curves, my waist appears more narrow; my breasts more full with the plunging neckline. The short length combined with the 5 inch patented black stilettos made my muscled legs appear even more perfect than usual. The sleeveless style also draws attention to my toned arms. This dress personifies me: Beautiful yet deadly. After admiring myself for a few minutes I move onto make up, lining me eyes with heavy black eyeliner and painting my lips a vivid scarlet; my masterful appliance of make up had highlighted my features elevating my beauty further and making me appear enigmatic. Now I was ready for the cameras.

Being fit for public viewing I walked down into the canteen, a smirk making itself known on my lips: Heaven, I was in heaven as I saw the girls throwing looks of loathing and jealousy in my direction; some even looked hopeful, as if I were to take a seat with them. Don't make me laugh, these useless specimen were nowhere near my calibre, I would never taint myself by socialising with those beneath me. I am not a snob, I just know that I'm better than these people; I take a seat alone, pointedly ignoring anyone who tries to gain my attention and curling my lip at anyone who tried to approach my table.

I have never had friends, not wanted them; yes, I suppose it would be nice to trifle in the frivolity of gossip but not one of these pathetic people, or anyone I have ever encountered has earned the privilege to refer to me as their 'friend' or even their 'acquaintance'. I've had boyfriends, although the technical term would be 'male to satisfy my sexual needs' nobody has ever earned the rite for me to love them. Love is a fallacy; lust is the only emotion I would ever feel towards a man.

Breakfast is finished and I am stuck as for what to do; I could go and allow boys to ogle me near the fountain dedicated to the district 1 victors, a monument which will bear my name in a short few weeks. No, I do not feel like flaunting my perfection before the ceremony. It's not even as if I need to arrive at the Justice Building early, no other girl will even dare try to volunteer; they know it's my time to shine, and shine I shall.

I spend the remainder of the time wondering aimlessly through the streets of district 1, admiring the stunning architecture of the townhouses with their marble pillars and stunning verandas. I stop at Victor Village, looking out at the most impressive structures in the district, I feel a quiver of excitement as I picture myself waltzing through the gilded streets, proud to call myself a victor and knowing I had rid Panem of 23 beings who were not worth the oxygen which they breathed.

I stood there staring up at my future home, daydreaming until I heard a series of chimes in the distance. The reapings had begun, I turned and began to walk towards the town square; I was not concerned with something as trivial as punctuality, for when you are as fabulous as me you can only ever be 'fashionably late' and fashionably late I most certainly am. I arrive as Mayor Glitter is completing his god awful rendition of the 'Treaty of Treason'; he speaks quietly and stumbles over his words. Pathetic man. No one is paying me any attention due to my late arrival, no hushed whispers wondering about my whereabouts, well that just won't do. I begin to clap as the crowd falls silent, I see heads spinning toward me I hear the whispers that I'd arrived, looks of lust seem to radiate from the hormonal male youths, fear clouds the eyes of any girl who dared considered volunteering. Order is restored, all eyes are on me.

I am garnering so much attention that the district escort, has to tap the microphone to regain the attention of my audience. His name is Dorian Tranter, a very attractive man if I must say with his raven hair and golden eyes; I can see me and him having a lot of fun throughout my stay at the Capitol. He begins to intone about the honour of being a tribute, a fact I am well aware of; but I decide to cut his speech short. I walk towards the stage in slow measured steps, swaying my hips with each step; a lady never likes to disappoint her faithful audience, its me they came to see. As I mount the stage I turn to wink at the gathered crowd, then turn back to the escort; he is simply flabbergasted, never in Hunger Games history has someone climbed onto the stage before a name has been called.

'Mr Tranter, There is no need for you to bother yourself with drawing a girl's name, I am the female tribute.' I lower my voice and adopt a husky tone, piercing him with a look of unadulterated lust, fake of course. I see his eyes begin to darken in desire, men: will they ever learn to think with their heads and not their genitalia?

'Oh' He is fumbling his words, trying to regain a sense of composure and a smug smile curls at the corner of my lips.

'And what is your name?'

'Ruby Ashford' I now turn to the gathered crowd, the sun is glistening off of my hair. In this moment I look and feel like a goddess.

'Although I won't object to being called Victor Ruby, if that's more convenient' Look at them, hanging from my every word: my adoring fans. They are cheering for me and I love it, they know their place. Dorian seems to have ambled to the boys reaping bowl and plucked a piece of paper, I step back; it's time to meet the competition. Dorian continues to throw me covetous glances as he makes his way to the microphone.

'Fieyro Huntington' Oh I've seen him around the training centre; he is good although his skills pale in comparison to my own. 16, good build but you can tell by looking that he is dim-witted and therefore easily manipulated; these games will be a piece of cake. As I am imagining the variety of ways that I'll dispatch of Mister Huntington, I hear a shout.

'I volunteer' I turn towards the source of the commotion, Fieyro is looking extremely confused with his brow wrinkled. It's Nicoli Spinoza, he is the 'friendly one' always huddled away in a corner talking with his insufferable friends. Especially that Katia Marshall, she is so snobbish; thinking she's better than everyone else. Sorry darling, but that's my job. He is well respected at the academy; I can't be too sure about his skills. I've heard rumours about him, supposedly homosexual; understandable seeing as all he seems to talk about is dance, art, literature and fashion but that is beside the point I don't know enough about him. He is an enigma, and I do not like enigmas.

By now he has made his way onto the stage, looking all cherubic with his pouted lips, his raven hair falling into his sparkling and strangely innocent blue eyes. He is around 6' with a swimmers build; his muscles are long and wiry but most definitely there. He introduces himself before turning to me; he extends his hand, a genuine smile gracing his cute features. I take his hand and plaster a smile onto my face. Well Mister Spinoza you can stand there looking as cute as you like but by the end of these games you shall be dead and I shall be victorious.

We're walking to into the Justice Building and my district partner doesn't seem to be shutting up.

'Oh your dress, the cut is perfect for your figure. I've seen you in training: so graceful, but fierce. You sure you aren't a dancer? It's just the way you move' I smile and nod my head as he babbles on, he will be a career and therefore my ally, I don't need to make enemies too early after all.

'I am kind of excited to be going to the Capitol, aren't you? They are so culturally advanced: they are the pioneers of fashion, art and culture. I can't wait to meet the stylists seriously; it'll be like heaven to me. I'm sure both of us will look amazing. I wonder who our mentors will be. I'm hoping for Liam, he is a close friend; he told me to volunteer actually. Plus if I win this thing people will stop spreading those rumours, have you heard them? And maybe dad will be proud, and then he'll let me pursue my career in fashion' God, I am stuck with someone who will not shut the hell up, I continue to smile but I cannot help but imagine that if he doesn't become quiet in my presence soon, I will kill him. I mean I am Ruby Ashford, not anybody can just talk to me. I decided to shut him up.

'Oh yes, Nicoli—'

'Oh call me Nikki, everyone does'

'Oh, Nikki I'm sure it's going to be amazing, the Capitol, the costumes, everything. But right now, I'm a little overwhelmed and just need to be alone. Ever so sorry' He is nodding understandably, a smile on his face yet again.

'Oh I understand, if you need anything just let me know. I'm so glad we're friends and we'll talk later' He gives me a quick hug and disappears, most probably to say goodbye to his friends and family. I am shocked; he just touched me without permission. How dare he, I'll have to teach him manners: the hard way.

I spend the next hour just standing around in the room I was led to, the room in which I am meant to be saying goodbye to friends and family. Seeing as I have no friends or family I am unsurprisingly left alone. I appreciate this time to just sit and think; Mister Spinoza poses a problem, is he being fake? Is he trying to get close to me, in order to betray me? I'm glad that we have a week until the arena; I'll spend the time trying to find the answers to my questions. Because I am sure that the boy will not be getting the better of me, I'm primed and ready to kill him at the drop of a hat. Sucks to be him.

**Oh Ruby, you self obsessed cow, but really as a career would you have it any other way? ;) So let me know what you think of her? The chapter in my opinion is one of the poorer ones and for that I apologise; but I have some plans for Ruby, plans I hope you enjoy. Now, let us all say thanks to backt0theburrow for our narcissistic bitch shall we? Plus we have met our first male tribute, Nicoli! Courtesy of ToxicatedRose. I know you haven't met him properly, but any thoughts about him? We'll get an insight to his mind laters.**

**TTFN...Oh, and REVIEW! :D Till next time xxx**


	3. The Underestimated Dreamer

**Well, we're back in District 1 now for some more Ruby and Nicoli… YAY! This chapter is mainly from Nicoli's POV and I've been dying to write it for AGES! This'll be the last you'll see of District 1 until we're in the Capitol!**

**So Thank You's to:**

**Backt0theburrow for Ruby Ashford**

**ToxicatedRose for Nicoli Spinoza**

**Nicoli Spinoza, District 1.**

The realisation that in less than a week I'm to be thrown into an arena with 23 other people in a battle to the death is daunting, extremely daunting in fact; I feel my earlier enthusiasm of winning fade into the background. Realistically, my chances are much better than most since I am representing what most people refer to as a 'career' district and have been trained a good portion of my 16 years in anticipation for one day entering and winning these games; but this is not my wish, and it never will be, it is my father's wish. But to achieve my own dreams I am going to have to win these games to prove my worth to my over bearing father; I am going to have to win these games to dispel the inaccurate, and basically, slanderous rumours that have been circulating as of late.

I am genuinely upset that to achieve my dreams I'll have to shatter those of others; take the lives of people who have dreams just like me. Ruby, she could have any number of dreams as could any tribute but these dreams must remain idle fantasies; for I am the tribute who will become Victor. I am the tribute who will make my dreams come true, however cliché that may sound.

Unlike most I am not an essentially complex person by nature; I'm the 'nice one', I am the teenage boy who lives the typical teenage life and who dotes on the tiniest details; I am not one to play mind games but I anticipate that some tributes are trying to play these games already: Ruby Ashford, my district partner, is someone I'll be keeping an eye on; I tried being pleasant and well I got the vibe that she didn't particularly like me, no it was more than that, she looked at me as though I was prey and she the predator.

Extremely creepy, but I allow her to continue as she pleases for someone I trust very much gave me a great piece of advice: 'Keep your friends close, Nicoli but you make damn sure you keep your enemies closer', my sister Priscilla may be going through some emotional punk phase but I trust her implicitly. So warning Miss Ashford, I'm going to be keeping you so close we're practically Siamese twins; any girl who is so arrogant as to declare herself the Victor before the games have begun, well she isn't going on my list of friends no matter how graceful she moves or how exquisitely cut her dress is.

My ponderings however come to a sudden close when I enter the train compartment; forget my district partner and our mentors, I have literally stepped into my own personal heaven: I have obviously been deluded, I thought that District 1 was the home of luxury; how foolish of me to even try and compare my home district to the Capitol, they quite obviously outshine us.

Everything is perfect, the plush satin chaise the colour of midnight; the solid marble countertops seem to glitter as if infused with the diamonds my district is acclaimed for mining; the russet coloured carpet beneath my feet seems thick and the most amazing shade of periwinkle blue, it must have been imported from District 8 since nowhere else could create such a luxurious material. I am quite aware that my eyes are shining in tears of admiration and my mouth is agape; it's just that this is all I've ever wanted, what I wouldn't give to live in the Capitol around things of such beauty, to be in a place where my creative aspirations are encouraged not ridiculed.

'Isn't it jus beautiful? It's just simply amazing; I've always known that the Capitol has the best of it all but well this is simply something else…' My ramblings are interrupted by a cough; a cough I'm pretty sure was meant to shut me up. I can't help it that I tend to gabble when I'm excited; I turn to see the source of the sound and see that my mentors and partner are gathered, all wearing looks that scream nonchalance and annoyance. I'll assume that I'm the source of annoyance but I cannot comprehend how they can stand here and not be simply amazed by our surroundings, well maybe the mentors seeing as they're shipped to and from the Capitol regularly but Ruby should be excited as I am.

'Well, my little pansy friend while you've been catching flies we've developed your training strategy. Your to train separately and well I'm pretty sure I'd like to be Ruby's mentor seeing as she seems to be able to focus rather than wonder around like a gormless moron.' That's Platinum Herzesky, a Victor from a couple of years ago and the one I'd assumed would be mentoring me throughout the whole experience; traditionally male tributes are mentored by other males but it seems Platinum seems to be thinking that Ruby has a better chance at winning, although the way his narrowed blue eyes seem to travel along Ruby's impressive figure tells me that with her he has a better chance of getting laid.

In all honesty I'm not too concerned about this, in all honesty I think I prefer it; Yes, I do feel dejected but I wouldn't want to be mentored by an oaf who is blatantly so bigoted; If there is one thing that truly grates on me it is people who are prejudiced. I think it is safe to say that Mister Herzesky stores a certain amount of faith in the rumour mill of District 1. Plus, I see that Ruby is simpering at his 'not-so-kind words' and trailing her delicate hands across his broad shoulders; seems her tactic is to sleep her way to the top, I am really am trying to stop myself rolling my eyes when I catch onto her all too classy plan: Which isn't cliché at all, pretty girl sleeping her way to victory; I seriously consider telling her about self respect but bite my tongue.

'Oh, well then I respect your choices and wish you the best of luck; well I'll appreciate having this time to talk to my own mentor, who's dress is utterly fabulous if I may say. Is that duchess satin?' I admit it, I'm deliberately being camp to aggravate Platinum, although I do try and hide it with some form of respect; and it seems to have worked seeing as he rolls his eyes before storming from the room, Ruby hot on his heels.

'Nicoli Spinoza and I know that you're Sheen Rownan, glad to meet you.' I hold out my hand to my mentor but it just hangs there, she pushes her raven hair behind one shoulder and narrow her caramel coloured eyes at me; analysing me I assume as she begins to walk around me taking in every detail possible. She comes to stand in front of me and grasps my hand in an iron grip, a tight smile blossoming onto her elfin face.

'I am glad to meet you because I, unlike my partner Platinum am not blind. I see the girl for the whore that she is; and I see that you have a lot more potential behind that whole happy go lucky attitude of yours. One question though, do you want to win?' She speaks quickly and very quietly and I have to lean in to hear her words, well she is definitely blunt but that could be good seeing as I spend a good amount of my time with my head in the clouds, imagination running wild.

'Well, I do want to win but can I ask why we're whispering. Seems a bit strange in all honesty.' She smirks at my response and a small laugh bursts from her lips, she just shakes her head as if I'm missing something.

'I'm whispering seeing as your district partner and her sleazy mentor are waiting outside the door trying to listen to your strategy; they've written you off, they think your as good as dead and so I need a strategy to prove them wrong. And the only way such a strategy could work is if they don't know about it.' Wow, how did she know that? I can't hear a thing and how on Earth could she think of a strategy so quick; this woman is definitely something but I cannot help but feel smug, it seems even though Platinum lacks faith in me it isn't the same for Sheen Rownan. She has faith in me and because of the ring of determination in everything she says; I have faith that if any mentor could bring me home as a Victor she is standing before me.

'Oh, okay then; Kudos for noticing that, but what is this surprise strategy that's supposedly going to prove them wrong?' I am genuinely curious as to how to play this, I thought I'd join the career pack and then let everyone else pick each other off one by one until I'm the only one left standing; seems it's really not as simple as that.

'What would you say is your greatest weakness strategy in their eyes Nicoli?' What an odd question, I didn't think we were here discussing whatever my weakness' are, but if it helps why shouldn't I tell her? Or maybe, she's trying to just ridicule me in front of Platinum and Ruby. My concerns must be written across my face seeing as she shakes her head at me.

'You can trust me Nicoli, I'll do everything I can in order to bring you home. Now please answer my question.'

'Cross your heart and hope to die?' I know it seems childish but it will comfort me, Sheen is becoming visibly exasperated seeing as her perfectly shaped eyebrows appear to be disappearing into her hairline.

'Yes, happy now? Or is there another childish ritual you'd like to waste time on' I feel bad for aggravating her but grin at her expression; if she was willing to do that for me I trust her, and I will answer her question.

'Well, they think I'm simple; no that's the wrong word. I think my greatest weakness in there eyes is that I'm well a bit of a pansy and that I cannot do this.' It sounds very self depreciating but I remind myself that it's how they see me; I see myself in a totally different light but that's beside the point. Sheen is nodding her head with such fervour I think she is in serious danger of dislocating it.

'Exactly Nicole, that's it don't you see?' She looks at me expectantly as if we've shared some type of communal epiphany, because I'm pretty sure my blank expression shows I am not in on this stroke of genius she just had. She must see it though as she continues, her voice remaining a soft whisper.

'That's it Nicoli, they underestimate you. No one will see you as a threat, you'll be overlooked and then when as soon as they realise that you are a threat. Well, you'll have to stick a knife in their back.' It seems so simple, I didn't even consider it but my pathway to victory has been before me the whole entire time. I smile at my mentor; this woman is complete genius.

It's true, I have spent a life under estimated: My father always thought I'd fail at Career Academy, but my athleticism shone; the boys of my district always under estimated me, branded me a 'homo' but I can prove them all wrong. I reminisce about the final words spoken to me by Ella Denim; the sweet girl who's been my best friend practically all my life, and my secret love for a vast majority of the time:

'Nicoli, not many people have faith in you but I do; these people are wrong but come home to me please. I know you can do this.' She'd given me the same advice as Sheen effectively yet I didn't see it.

Well, all these people who throw offensive slurs at me; all those that think I'm guaranteed death in these games, all those that think I'm a wimp; all those that believe me to be dumb, prepare to eat your words. I'll prove them all wrong; it is a big mistake for anybody to underestimate me. For my name is Nicoli Spinoza, I came to these games to prove a point and win by any means necessary; and contrary to popular belief I am not afraid to break nail to do so.

**Ruby Ashford, District 1.**

After we were unable to decipher Nicoli's words, Platinum and I retired to his room for some discussion of our own; I always said my sexuality was as powerful as any sword, and ask Platinum; he'll willingly tell you that my body took him to realms of pleasure he had never encountered previously. The sex in all honesty was mediocre at best but the consequences of the deed are what concern me; I have sunk my claws into him now, he is at my beck and call: educating me in strategy, securing me the most affluent sponsors and ensuring I get the better stylist/prep team.

So it is a good day's work and I suppose its all practice: I'll have to seduce a man in the arena, one who is as stupid as Platinum most likely and then once I've won I'll be expected to 'pleasure' the Capitol's citizens in exchange for the kindness they gave me throughout the Hunger Games; sending gifts and all of that. I suppose I should be disgusting by my actions and what is expected of me when I win the games; but why should I? Why shouldn't I share my exquisite beauty with the world? And who knows what other opportunities will come my way if I seduce the right person. Think of me as a whore if you must, but remember that when it all ends it will be I, Ruby Ashford, who comes out on top.

My mind returns however to something that has been bothering me all day: Nicoli bastard Spinoza, something about him is irksome, there is something else about that boy; he simply cannot be all smiles and unicorns. Has he got a special talent I need to know about? I was so rash earlier, he tried to befriend me and I kind of shot him down; Oh well he is so simple if I smile at him he'll think I want to be 'best friends' and maybe I should let this happen, it can only benefit me in the long run. As I said I hate enigmas, and I'm now obsessed with solving the puzzle the scatter brained homo presents.

I strut into the living compartment, intend on finding Spinoza but instead all I find is his mentor. Sheen Rownan, she detests me and it's because she knows I am her superior in every aspect; I still don't understand how she won her games but sometimes those things happen, an undeserving Victor being crowned.

'Where's Nicoli?' I don't have the time to stand around making pointless conversation with this silly woman, not when I have the puzzle that is Nicoli Spinoza to solve anyway; she looks at me and quirks her eyebrow. Annoying habit of hers it seems but I let it slip seeing as I need her to answer my question, she gets to her feet and walks over to me.

'Ruby Ashford, I'm the boys mentor and even I can see it is a lost cause; he might be able to help you out in the career pack; watch your back and such but he is no threat. I guarantee it.' Well, what am I meant to do? Congratulate her on noticing something I saw the first time I saw him, but I can't shake the ominous feeling that is telling me there is something else about that boy.

'Shine—'

'It's Sheen' I deliberately got her name wrong, she needs to learn that I can do as I please; I just wave off her interruption and continue.

'He may be playing a game; you wouldn't be able to tell now would you?' She looks hurt at my accusation but I won't censor my thoughts for her benefit. She draws herself up to her full height, eyes narrowed.

'Although I would much prefer for him to win, the thing is you're the best chance district 1 has of winning; the boy is an open book, he doesn't pose a threat to you at all; I've seen you, you'd cut him down before he even considered crossing you however much I hate to admit it' The woman is seething, but there is a ring of sincerity to her tone; and well the compliments were great, the fact she was reluctant to give them just made them better in my opinion.

I knew Nicoli was just a push over, an easy kill; my gut told it me straight away and I should've trusted it, my intuition is never wrong, another thing that just enhances my perfection. It seems I was over thinking things; well I'll be sure not to do that again. I smile sarcastically at Sheen then turn and head back towards Platinum's quarters, he may be ready for round 2.

**Sheen Rownan, District 1 Mentor.**

That girl makes my skin crawl; she is so arrogant and what has she done to walk around with such self esteem, nothing. She's pretty and I suppose her little 'whore' act helps but it can only get her so far. I'll make sure of it, she thinks she's better than me and anybody else unfortunate enough to stumble across her path, well if she were as 'intelligent' as she seems to think she is she would've realised I was lying. It physically hurt to have to compliment her but I remembered that all of this, The Hunger Games, is just that: a game.

A game that I will make sure Ruby Ashford doesn't win; everything I do has a motive. This trait of mine is what made me the Victor of the 57th Annual Hunger Games and it is what will help me ensure that Nicoli Spinoza is the Victor. I came to mentor a winner and I will make sure that I achieve my goal. And there is nothing that a pathetic whore like Ruby Ashford can do about it.

**YAY! Quick update or what? What do you think of these tributes eh? And what do you think of Sheen, a little creation of mine?**

**And food for thought…once I finish this SYOT, would you like another SYOT? Or maybe the Games of a previous Victor? A Quarter Quell…or something else? Let me know.**

**REVIEW! PLEASE…. :D **

**xxx**


	4. Selfless Motivations, Selfish Desires

**Guys, I was originally intending to give you only one chapter, but I thought 'Oh well, I'll reward them' but I expect repayment. Repayment in the form of reviews, or chocolate... I'm not too fussy! :D **

**So, I thought why I don't throw another career, or two, into the mix. Guys, this is the first male reaping as well ;) So let me present to you: Claude, literally want to marry this man ;) xxx And Sandra :D Our 2 careers are definitely a good two to be in the mix :D **

**Claude 'Claw' Dew, District 2.**

District 2, the home of masonry; the population here are responsible for all the stonework which lines the streets of the Capitol; we're also the home of the Peacekeepers. The result of these two factors being that our tributes are a lot like the stone which is our primary trade: strong, emotionless and dangerous. I am none of these things, and that is why I will never participate in the Hunger Games, the punishment the districts of Panem face for their rebellion 62 years ago: the cause of 23 unnecessary deaths every year.

Unlike the other boys my age, I'm not fond of violence unless it is absolutely necessary and even then I try to negotiate before throwing a punch; I have trained as have most of the youths here in district 2 but I never trained in preparation for the games. I trained to please my mother, Shimmer Dew, the social climber who craves the glory associated with having a child become a victor in the Hunger Games; although my younger brother, Shine is eager to enter and win the games mother still lectures me about how if I were to volunteer and win the world would be at my feet. I don't understand why, Shine may only be 14 but he is much more prepared and eager to volunteer in the games: he is the typical career, with his bulging muscle and bloodthirsty attitude; there's a glint in his brown eyes, a glint which identifies him as a trained killer. No such glint is present in my eyes.

As for the glory my mother lectures me about, there is nothing more I want from my life than what I already have; my family, my friends and my beautiful girlfriend, Iris who I fully intend on making my wife one day. That is why I'm more than content to follow in my father Cotton's footsteps and take a role within the family business of supplying marble to the Capitol.

But for one second I try to imagine what would happen if I did volunteer, could I win? Maybe, as a career my chances would be much higher than the non-career tributes; but I don't know if I could kill someone, in cold blood, in self defence maybe. I try to imagine myself as a tribute, ravaged by the arena: My dark brown hair matted with blood and dirt; my hazel eyes narrowed as I stood over a faceless tribute and thrust my sword into their chest, a sinister malice in my eyes; my tan skin littered with numerous scars and my full lips pulled over my teeth in an animalistic snarl. No, it isn't me, I'm not a sadist and I'm most certainly not a career. I'm the guy who always has a smile on my face, the guy who tries to brighten everyone's mood, I'm not a career and I doubt I ever will be.

No matter what my friend, Liam Quainwright, tells me about how I am the perfect candidate for tribute; I'm not like him, I couldn't cope. Liam has told me about the nightmares, about seeing the faces of every tribute who lost their life in the 59th Hunger Games, how they taunt him, he hears their pleas for mercy. I am not the kind of man who could live like that. I am nothing but a simple man with simple desires.

Once again reaping day is upon us, I am reluctant to go downstairs as I can already imagine what mother will have to say and it is truly something I would not mind avoiding; my plans to avoid my mother are shattered however when I hear her shrill voice travel up the stairs.

'Claude, Shine I want you two down here this instant. I have a lot to do and it's a big day, so get out of bed now for I will not have you spoiling my schedule.' I quickly oblige, as I do not want to bring my mother's wrath down upon us all; I run downstairs and quickly sit down at the table, Shine arriving a few seconds later. He got the muscles, but I definitely got the speed.

'So, here you go boys. Porridge, a good source of carbohydrates essential for my growing boys' She smiles at us fondly, my mother was once a great beauty. I've seen the pictures, and she still retains a sense of that beauty now with her grey hair tied elegantly at the nape of her neck and her hazel eyes which are identical to my own are now focused on me, she quirks her perfectly manicured eyebrow at me as if waiting for something to happen.

'So Claude, have you reconsidered what we spoke about? Are you going to volunteer' her gaze becomes penetrating, and she is wringing her hands. I take a moment before answering, carefully considering what to say.

'Well, I think it is in the best interest for us all if I do not—'

'Oh don't give me some stupid excuse, why aren't you volunteering? Are you incapable? Are you scared of death? Do you not want to bring any honour to this family?' A frown is marring her face now, her hands now balled into fists. Does my own mother really want me to sign my own death warrant? What can I say to that seriously? I am saved from having to reply by my father who has lowered his newspaper to glare at mother, his emerald green eyes flashing dangerously.

'Shimmer Dew, we have spoken about this. Claude is to become a partner is my business; he has made his intentions regarding the games very clear from the beginning. Why must you persist? It is very unbecoming in a woman of your status' Mother is silent, shock etched into her face and disgustingly lust sparkling in her eyes. That is why I love father, he is a man of few words but when he does speak, we listen. Father has always supported us in every decision we make, like me deciding to enter the family business and Shine entering the Hunger Games. Shine, then decides to break the silence that has engulfed the breakfast table.

'Don't you worry mom, at least one of your sons will make you proud' he winks at me and my trademark smile flashes onto my face.

'I'll go into the arena in a couple of years, kill them all and come home. We'll move to Victors Village, you'll be the envy of every woman in the district and we'll all be happy. Simple, I don't know why you all get so uppity about such trivial things' he rolls his eyes as if to emphasize his point. I can't help it, I start laughing until tears are streaming down my face; I have to admire my brother's perspective, he sees everything in black and white, he goes directly to the point. My father's bass chuckle joins me shortly after and mother's tinkling laugh soon after that. That's my family, the one that breaks down into a hysterical laughing fit around the kitchen table; and soon Iris will be a member of my family. I couldn't ask for anything else in the world.

The remainder of breakfast is spent in everyday conversation: the trading prices of marble, Shine's upcoming boxing match, and the careers training programme and who will be the tributes for the upcoming games. Shortly after though, mothers face turns stern and she looks toward me and Shine.

'Boys, upstairs and changed now, and make sure that you look presentable. Hell will freeze over before I allow my sons to be seen in public looking anything short of immaculate. You are representing the Dew family, remember that.' She raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes, she is completely serious; being anything less than flawless in the public eye is the worst sin one can commit in the eyes of Shimmer Dew.

'Mom, the reapings aren't for another hour and a half' I know she wants us to look good, but seriously me and Shine are guys; we don't need that long to get ready. Surprisingly she smiles at me, a genuine smile that implies I'm missing something, when she notices my blank expression she elaborates.

'Well, I thought that you'd both like to meet your friends prior to going to the reapings; and Claude I thought you'd also want to see Iris alone before you meet Liam' Oh, of course. I run up the stairs; in no time I've thrown on the new outfit mother purchased in honour of the reapings, every year she buys us something new: 'You will not be seen at the reapings in the same clothes more than once. What would Morgana say? Oh I'd be the laughing stock of the wives community'.

Staring at myself I think I look presentable: the white dress shirt is fitted, drawing attention to my defined biceps, making my tan appear more prominent, my skin is glowing and my hazel eyes appear more vibrant than ever; the black trousers are fitted and the patent leather shoes complete the ensemble. Presentable, indeed. I look like a potential career tribute, handsome and strong; no wonder mother and Liam try and coerce me into volunteering, I look the part. What am I thinking? Could I seriously kill a 12 year old, someone defenceless and vulnerable? No, I couldn't and that's why I would never be a part of the Hunger Games.

I walk downstairs to stand before my parents, presenting myself to my parents before I leave. If I left the house without showing my mother she would go ballistic and I've heard rumours that when she was younger she was a master of throwing knives, but I don't want to find out.

'Oh you look wonderful darling. Strong and fierce, those leather shoes set it all off; when the other moms see what you're wearing they will die from jealousy, I did such a good job shopping didn't I?' She smiles widely, and affectionately pats my shoulder before my father cuts in from behind his newspaper.

'I think what you should say is that you do a good job spending my hard earned money, dear. Oh and Claude, you do look good' I stifle a laugh that is bursting to spring from my lips at the expression on mothers face; she looks shell shocked.

'Oh, well I think you do a good job of eating the food I've cooked, wearing the clothes that I've cleaned and ironed. Yes, Cotton you should learn to think before you speak; it is very unbecoming in a man of your status' She repeats his earlier words and I cannot hold it any longer I begin to laugh at my parents fruitless banter. If, I'm going to meet Iris and Liam I'd better be leaving soon, I wave my hands to try and catch my parent's attention; they appear to be engaged in a staring contest, daring one another to speak.

'Mom, Dad, I'm gonna go now. Meet Iris and everything. I'll see you after the reapings' I wait around for about a minute to see if they'll respond but they seem to be too consumed in their battle of the wills.

I leave the house and continue on my way to Iris', now I've done it. Whenever I think of Iris I feel butterflies in my stomach, a goofy smile blossoms onto my face or so they say and all I can see is her. Her flaxen hair which falls straight to her waist, her petite frame with her luscious curves which fits into my arms as if it was the missing piece of a puzzle, her blue eyes that shine with mischief, her cute button nose, her joyful laugh which sounds like heavenly bells. Everything, the girl consumes my thoughts; so happy, you will never see Iris Waldenberg upset.

Apart from now, as I turn onto the street where Iris lives a haunting image strikes me. Iris, my Iris so beautiful and happy appears broken. Pain flashed through my chest, it is truly heart wrenching to see the girl who is practically your everything curled on the floor weeping constantly. Shoulders shaking as her sobs echo in my ear, what do I do? How can I comfort her, she is the one who holds me. I stand and stare, who did this? Nobody would physically harm Iris, any girl she could beat without breaking a sweat; and as for the men her in district 2: I am not an outwardly violent or aggressive being, but it is an acknowledged fact that if any man touch her I would beat them senseless. Many times I've heard such scenarios described as 'aggressive negotiations'.

I edge forward slowly, considering what I should say. I stand before her and I see that she lifts her head, her blue eyes red and swollen, her plump lips turned down in a frown, brow puckered with anxiety. I feel helpless but I reach down to cup her jaw, tilting her head upwards. She looks into my eyes blankly. She has gone from a sobbing wreck to being completely devoid of emotion.

'Iris, my love, what's the matter? Please tell me what I can do, seeing you like this it's too much' She stares at me, her face still an expressionless mask. She climbs to her feet and turns to walk away, I reach out to snag her wrist, she cannot leave without telling me what had happened; we never keep secrets, never have and never will.

'Love, you can't just walk away from a problem Iris. You taught me that, so just spill it. What's going on? I seriously don't understand how I'm meant to help if you don't tell me what's going on' unconsciously my voice is beginning to rise, I never get angry at Iris but I'm getting frustrated. They say that relationships are built on trust, I trust her implicitly but in this moment it appears that the trust is not reciprocated.

'Claw, not all of my problems are something you can make just disappear. Some things, you have to face alone, just give me some space please. It's all I'm asking for' her rebuke made me feels sick, what's happening? Have I entered some alternate reality? Suffering some elaborate hallucination?

'Iris, please. You can have your space, wallow in self-pity or whatever just tell me what's wrong. I feel—'

'Self pity?' Her face is now the image of shock, mouth agape and eyebrows raised but just as suddenly her expression snapped to that of rage. Eyes of blue steel, jaw clenched and her eyebrows pulled together. SLAP. The sound of flesh on flesh reverberates through the street, Iris has hit me and it takes everything not to raise my hand to where she had struck me. The sting began to fade but Iris just stood there, grinding her teeth.

So Claw, you want to know why I'm wallowing in self pity? Do you really? Because I suppose you do deserve to know. You helped create the problem.' I stood there, face blank. What was she going on about? I am seriously considering that there is a shred of truth to my earlier musing that I had entered some parallel universe.

'So you gonna stand there looking nonplussed all day? Do I need to spell it out? I'm pregnant, P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T, as in carrying your unborn child. So before you dare try and lecture me about wallowing, think: In 8 months we'll be parents; we're eighteen for God's sake, how are we meant to cope? What are we going to do?' Tears are streaming down her face before she turns around, disappearing into the crowd that had gathered to witness our public confrontation.

Shock: what? I cannot be hearing this; this isn't what's meant to happen. It's meant to go like this: We survive the reapings; I work in the family business and each at the academy while Iris studies medicine. We build a household; we become financially independent before we even consider beginning a family. What am I going to do? I need to be strong, the answer is so obvious: I need to be there for my future wife and our unborn child. It may not be the most convenient thing to happen but nothing will stop me being there for Iris, for our child.

**Sandra 'Sandy' Burghardt, District 2.**

Oh, how tragic? The 'golden couple' have had a domestic, how stupid. Yes, teenage pregnancy isn't the most convenient thing to happen in their situation but must they be so blind? Yes, they're 18 but they have a family that loves them and wealth in abundance. It isn't the end of their lives, whatever happens to them their socialite parents will save their asses. They need to realise that there are worse problems that fester here in district 2 and throughout Panem, real problems that tear apart families; problems that cost people their lives; problems that haunt peoples nightmares.

No, I'm not about to stand here discussing philosophy; I'm not about to sit and ponder all the difficulties I've faced in my life; Yes, I've had problems: My mother died. But these things happen, we mourn and we move on. I'm not insensitive exactly, I just realise we all have problems and no matter how massive our problems seem to us at the time, there are people throughout Panem that are facing worse. I will not indulge in pitying myself when there are people out there more deserving of any pity I can give.

Life to me is dull and repetitive; nothing happens, we are all stuck in a rut. Life is meant to be exciting, we're meant to all achieve some sense of fulfilment, or so my mother said. But excitement is strangely absent here in district 2; the grey skies a literal cage, trapping me here to live a long life of boredom. I will not allow myself to live an empty life; I have always known that change is the key to unlocking the life of the fulfilment mother described. The thing is, I do not dwell on problems, I actually do something about them. If I want change, it can come from only one place: The Capitol. My key to getting to the Capitol: The Hunger Games.

Yes, you assume correctly. Sandy Burghardt is the name, and creating change will soon be my game. Today I will volunteer as a tribute, not your typical 'career'; although I am respected amongst my peers at the training academy I am not a bloodthirsty brute. I lack the thirst the blood, the desire to cause death. So you ask why I am going into an arena when the only decision is to kill or be killed. Simple, I do not want to win; I want to make an example of the Capitol, hold up a mirror to their flaws, and point out that the Hunger Games serve no purpose in Panem nowadays.

You see, I'm confused as to why the Capitol allows for the games to continue, their original purpose of punishing the rebels is rendered useless. No, instead they allow them to continue, for their entertainment. They are so comfortable in their perceived power that they think that the districts will continue to take this? They are so narrow-minded; allowing this brutal tradition to continue is nothing but an open invitation for rebellion, and volunteering is my RSVP.

I waltz home, arms laden with the groceries my brother Luca has instructed me to get before I witnessed the domestic conflict of Dew and Waldenberg, his waiting in the kitchen area in the apartment we share. He raises his eyebrows as I walk in, I glance to the clock to see that it is 10.30; wow, I had been gone a while. I smile at him, hoping that my seemingly joyful mood will appease him. Apparently not.

'Where have you been? If I find out you've been harassing peacekeepers again I swear I'll flog you until you cry like a baby'

'Luca, drop it with the empty threats; if you tried to flog me I would kick your ass. And before you come back with some smart alec comment, that my dearest brother is a promise.' He laughs at my cheek, I know for a fact that I would never have to keep that promise. Luca is annoying, over protective and more than a little controlling but he is my big brother, and it seems at times that he is all I have. Yes, my father still breathes but he doesn't live, he just works all day; the office has become his new wife and children.

'Sandy, you should learn to keep that attitude of yours in check. It'll get you into trouble one day' No Luca, it'll get me killed, but I bloody well hope that it does cause trouble. Trouble for the Capitol, because they really need to sort themselves out, or as the old maids saying goes: 'it'll all end in tears'.

'Yes Luca, and if you keep trying to tell me what to do I'll stick a knife in you before you can blink' He rolls his eyes, my threats are as empty as his, but yet we still continue to make them. I throw the groceries down and pour myself a glass of water, Luca puts the groceries away and we just sit down in the kitchen, silence fills the room. Silence, it is so beautiful and today will be the last time I ever experience it. The Capitol with its gold paved streets is not a place where one comes across the bliss that is silence and as for the arena; it will be filled with the dying screams of myself and 22 other tributes.

'Luca, you do know I love you right? You're the best brother I could ever ask for. Whatever I do, just remember that I love you wholeheartedly'

'Bloody hell, cut this out. Talk to me straight; I don't appreciate this whole ambiguous stuff' Well isn't my brother eloquent? He seriously does have a way with words, not.

'You seriously do have a way with words, Luca. Right, I'll tell you straight; I'm going into the Games, it's the only way'

'What? You can't, your gonna leave me here with dad the workaholic? I'll be bored shitless until you get back. And do what? If you want money get a job, if you wanna kill someone I say stick a knife in Grayson, or that arrogant twat Quentin Trordon'

'It's not that Luca, just drop it right. I'm volunteering—'

'Over my dead body missus—'

'Don't be a fool; my life, my decisions. I'll do as I bloody well like and you'll let me right?'

'No, I'm not letting you go and get yourself killed'

'I'll do as I fucking like Luca, so fuck off out my business' that's it now, he has pissed me off. It's my life, not his, and I am entering these games. I can't tell him why but I sincerely hope that when he realises my motives he won't think any less of me. He will lose his sister, but he and the rest of Panem will be given an opportunity. The opportunity to do something, I will not die in vain: there will be change. I storm from the room before Luca retaliates, the last time I ever see him and we're at each others throats: Just my luck.

I'm pacing in my room, waiting till my mood brightens, seems we're in for a long wait. My temper is a thing that works against me, it clouds all sense of rational judgement and rules me completely. I am a good girl with good intentions mostly, but right now I am the 'career' I've been groomed to be since the day I turned 12: I snatch a small steak knife from dinner the previous evening and throw it with all the force I possess at my bedroom door; the knife soars through the air at such a speed it appears to blur before it imbeds itself in the door. A knife flying through the air is a beautiful thing, but seeing it pierce a young child is not beautiful and that is why I promised never to hurt anyone unless necessary, life is not something to be wasted and that is what the Capitol sanctions, a waste of life; unfulfilled potential and broken families.

In no time I'm getting ready for the reapings, I wear a pair of dark jeans and a dark green silk blouse; not exactly stunning but I'm all for practicality when I think that in only an hour from now I will be fighting a multitude of girls in order to get to the stage and volunteer; so it seems I'll be wearing the tennis shoes. I've tried the whole running in heels thing and I know from experience that it is a futile task. I do look nice, I am not the most attractive girl but I have that 'something' about me.

When you look at a person and then look back again because you can't put your finger on what makes that person stand out. Standing at 5'7'' with dirty blonde hair, sea green eyes and a tan complexion. I appear to be distinctly ordinary, my muscled physique the norm here in district 2 as are the scars that litter my body from years at the training academy. So what is it that makes me stand out? The glint in my eyes that screams out for change, the determination to make that change happen and the willingness to give my life to ensure Panem is given the chance to make that change.

I exit my room and re-enter the kitchen, Luca is sitting where I left him all that time ago. Silence reigns yet again, but this silence isn't comfortable; it is a testament to something unspoken, the tension is so palpable I seriously think it could be cut with a knife.

'Sandy, I know why you're going, it's useless. You talk about change, and your right; things do need to change but they never will' His eyes are wide and rimmed with red; he appears manic with his desperation. I cannot relent, I am the girl that does something, I couldn't be happy staying here without trying to make the changes I deem vital to Panem. I am not a hypocrite I say that if there is a problem, change it: I cannot sit back without at least attempting to make that change happen.

'Luca, I know it might be stupid but I need to do this, I need to try or else I'll live a life regretting that I didn't at least try.'

'But dying isn't the only option; yes I know you intend to die. I think I have known for weeks, every time you say goodbye it appears so final. I refuse to say my final goodbyes; if you want change then I suggest you come back here alive so you can make that change happen'

'Your, your letting me go? Seriously? ' My brother smiles, it isn't a smile of joy but understanding; he just nods his head but I hear the words he hasn't spoken; He wouldn't want to be stuck with me for years if I didn't do this.

'Yes, you're doing a good thing. Well, you're trying to; and as you said it is you life. Why should I stop you doing something which could benefit everyone? I'd be selfish to stop you' He walks over and hugs me, short and sweet; he truly understands and he knows that it's something I need to do.

'Thank you Luca, seriously. Thanks' in certain situations I am rendered useless by my lack of eloquence; but we can practically read one another's minds. We don't need words to let each other know how we feel.

'Now go, and please reconsider this whole martyr thing. I'm not gonna lecture you; but remember you could do so much more if you came back alive'

'I know, I've got to go now. Love you' It's a lame goodbye; he won't be allowed to come and see me; since his fight with Grayson Luca has been placed under 'house arrest' by the peacekeepers. I'm not the overly emotional type but the realisation that I will never see my brother again is staggering. I will not, cannot die in vain: without me my brother has nothing, nobody. I need to make sure he has a better future to look forward to.

I pluck my mother's wedding ring, I always carry it and it will become my token when I enter the arena: the silver ring represents so much; everything that she taught me, my resolve to sacrifice myself in order to create change. But is Luca right? Would I be able to do more if I returned home as Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games, I think I may need to reconsider the path I've decided to win. To win or not to win? It seems that this is the question I now face.

**Enobaria Yenston, District 2 Mentor.**

It's been a whole year; a year since I was named Victor of the 61st Hunger Games; a year since I was taken to the Capitol to compete in the games that have become my identity, the games changed everything for me. I was a 16 year old girl, rather weedy for district 2 with brown eyes, pale skin and lifeless brown hair; but what I lacked in physical appearance I compensated for in bloodlust, cruelty and a savage need to win and prove myself to all the people here in district 2 who doubted me.

They said I was a goner, doomed to death in the arena. Well, appearances are deceiving: I walked into the games as the career girl who was already considered dead, I walked out a Victor who everyone feared; a woman who had proved herself as lethal and in many peoples opinions, crazed.

Ripping that boys throat out with my teeth, the most defining moment of my life has been forever implanted into the memory of every citizen here in Panem, their memories of me may be tinged with disgust, fear or even complete bewilderment; but they do remember me and my brutality is something which cannot be easily forgotten. I, Enobaria Yenston, have achieved immortality. It was in that moment I heard the canon ring to announce my victory. His flesh tasted sweet as his blood pooled in my mouth; a stimulant that cannot be compared to anything else. I am proud of what I did, proud that I proved myself the most worthy to continue living: My pride has now become a physical feature, my teeth: no longer crooked and yellowed, but filed to sharp points and plated in gold; a physical symbol of the act which made me immortal.

I reminisce for a few minutes longer before I have to depart for the reapings; today I return to the Capitol, no longer one of 24 tributes but as a Victor, adored by the citizens in the Capitol. I return as a mentor, prepared to guide one of the tributes here in 2 to victory, they can follow in my footsteps; try to match my greatness. I walk outside and I'm immediately joined by Brutus, one of my fellow victors with his wavy salt and pepper black hair and those cold, unfathomable grey eyes.

'Brutus, are you mentoring this year?' I remember last year he mentored Clatus, my district partner: the boy who died in order for me to win, the boy I killed by decapitating as he begged me for mercy, I will always remember his haunted cries, the pitiful pleas. One would think Brutus would begrudge me for killing the tribute he mentored, he doesn't, in fact he champions my bloodlust and encourages my brutality: especially at the academy where we train the potential tributes.

He is a sadist, like me: we are two peas in a pod, true kindred spirits. Brutus has been married for 12 years and is 18 years my senior, but this doesn't prevent our continued 'relations'; we understand one another in a way his wife can only imagine , we can sate one another's needs.

I notice a cut on his neck, hidden by the layers of thick muscles. Seeing the minor wound weep causes me to bite my lip, lust clouding my judgement: I lean in towards his neck and trail my tongue along the wound, the taste is phenomenal; sweeter than honey and smoother than finest whisky. He groans in pleasure, the beauty of our relationship is we acknowledge our animalistic needs, and we enjoy sating them.

Half an hour later we leave my house here in Victor's Village, we're cutting it extremely close in time; I am still in ecstasy as the pungent smell of sex lingers in my nostrils and the taste of Brutus still fills my mouth, his touch still sends shivers up my spine.

'In answer to your earlier question Enobaria, I am mentoring. It will be delightful working alongside you; although we will have to make time for you to work under me' his husky voice, causes every nerve ending in my body to tingle in need, to tingle in unadulterated pleasure. I feel warmth blossom in my stomach and for the second time in one hour my lust manifests in a pool of desire between my legs.

'Oh Brutus, I may have to be working underneath you as soon as possible; how do you have such an effect on me?' He begins to laugh, a smoky baritone and it is joined by my soprano tinkling; now it is time to go and meet the newest tributes. I am ecstatic, the Hunger Games are about to begin yet again, seeing tributes drop like flies is a drug to me, and for Brutus. For us, the odds are forever in our favour.

As we embark on the small journey to the Justice Building I begin to fantasize about the spectacular sights we'll see this year; the panicked screams of tributes who know their death is inevitable. Now for our newest tributes: will they be the bloodthirsty tributes ready to follow in my footstep and bring honour to our glorious district, or will they fall short? Die because of useless emotions like loyalty and compassion.

**Oh, so there's a chapter! I know there's not a reaping technically but I'm sure you assume Claude and Sandy will be our tributes and you assume correctly. We will return later to meet the tributes properly and learn about their reapings. So, how did Claude end up as a tribute, when he said he wasn't a career? What is Sandy's plan then, will she decide to sacrifice herself or will she decide she can do more if she is the winner?**

**Oh and as for the Enobaria...I'm gonna start having different POV's! Next up will be the District 12 Reapings, told from the POV of our beloved Effie as it is her first year as an escort.**

**The new format yay or nay? I really wanted to change how I do the reapings! If I used the same format for all, it would become monotonous. So let me know your thoughts. Oh, I apologise for the chapter's quality, I found it very difficult to write. Now, I want to hear from my loving reading audience: How would you like to see the reapings, a mentor? Another eligible tribute? Escorts or a Capitol POV?**

**REVIEW! Thanks, Lawrence xxx**


	5. A Curious Obsession PART 1

**Hey, Hey…Well the general consensus from you guys is that I should introduce new tributes. So that's what you're gonna get :D**

**Now, I finished my big ass University essay today about European Theatre so for the time being updates are gonna be SUPER quick, so keep your eyes open ;) **

**I love these tributes very muchly ;)**

**Leonardo 'Leo' Wence, District 3**

In such a mundane world there is truly very little for one to become fascinated with. I am trapped here, a teenager in the technology district: A district whose sole purpose is inventing the latest technology and the newest gadgets for the Capitol. At times I really wish that my mind could be consumed over something as basic as circuit boards and new ways to conduct electricity. Admittedly I am knowledgeable in these areas seeing as the trademark feature of District 3 is not something physical but our high intellect; but my minds capacity cannot be held by such trivialities.

To one like myself beauty is not some physical feature appearing on a member of the opposite sex, it is something much more enthralling; a true phenomena. The flickering of a flame is a morbid fascination of mine, the only real fascination I have here in District 3. However, some of those closest to me; those that know of said fascination would refer to it as an obsession. They are wrong, but I don't begrudge them their assumptions for they do not understand. They don't see the way that a flame is truly a living organism; a representation of humanity: born as a spark; a spark that needs fuel, oxygen and heat to live as do humans; the flames grow and grow until it amasses its potential of being warm, unpredictable and powerful. Fire seems to personify everything which I aspire to be, but my fire does not burn as bright as it should; it is trapped and I will not allow my fire to burn out, it will not become ash before Panem has acknowledged how bright my fire can burn. People are wary of fire, and I suppose that their explanations are in a sense justified: Fire is dangerous but isn't humanity just as dangerous if not more so?

I cannot remember when this lure took hold of me; how I began to notice the appeal of fire, how I became so mesmerised with something so potentially lethal. I think I was around 8 years old and as my parents were asleep I began to play with matches, accidentally setting fire to a pile of autumn leaves that littered the courtyard that my became the centre of the slum area which we live. In that moment everything changed, a metaphysical fire lit in my soul; the leaves beginning to wilt and curl into themselves, in a matter of minutes what was once whole became nothing but cinders.

This soul warming fire began to grow and so my addiction to seeing things burn and wither to nothing was born, and so I went on burning small unimportant things like disused crates which litter the streets of our district until that night one year ago. I never meant for it to happen, but I cannot and will not bring myself to regret it; for in my 15 years I have never seen a sight so splendid, never seen a sight so mesmerising: I still don't know how it happened. I was going through my usual routine of burning small crates and bits of rubbish and in the next moment a disused building was in flames; I should have felt fear creeping through my veins, I should of ran to get someone but I couldn't move. The building collapsed within itself as the flames consumed the wooden frame, the heat and wavering flames had me trapped in a trance.

Since then I have been yearning for something more, to see something else consumed by beautiful flames, my creations. Unhealthily my new obsession is to see someone burn, to see as fire licks the flesh of a human; but no I know this desire of mine is impossible to fulfil and personally I would never wish to actually do that to someone else. Instead I've devised a way of feeding my 'addiction', my body is littered with burns; self inflicted burns, it may sound horrific but I think the feeling is beautiful: the burn from a flame feels like being littered with kisses from the softest lips.

I understand that if people knew of my fascination they would deem me mentally unstable, an arsonist or maybe a pyromaniac; but I am not, I suppose you could say I'm an artist, fire is my paint and Panem is my canvas.

'Leo, my main man. What have you been up to all day? I thought you'd disappeared. Little Louise over here was almost in tears.' The instant I hear these voices my demeanour changes, the transformation is instantaneous. No longer am I the boy consumed by the beauty of flames, a raging inferno; I am now a controlled flame, glowing embers: To everyone else I am nothing but a boy who fades into the background; quiet, shy and respectful. Distinctly ordinary and completely harmless, nothing like the fire I wish to emulate. This voice belongs to Clark Ross, one of my only friends; he is pretty tall and I hear hushed whispers in the corridors of our school declaring him 'handsome', I suppose there right; he has the sleek black hair, the impressive physique and eyes the colour of milk chocolate.

'I've just been sitting here, you know. Trying to escape, it's reaping day so I thought I'd just take some time to just have a few moments to myself. Sorry for worrying you' my voice is muted, as always and seems truly devoid of emotion; I nod towards my other friend Louise Urn who is looking down at the ground although I see her eyes flicking toward the burning fire every so often.

I am considered timid within the district, by those who notice me anyway; but in comparison to Louise I am a courageous lion, with her blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes she could be pretty if it weren't for the fact she wore horn rimmed glasses, rarely spoke a word and always hid her head in a book. Louise was quiet but incredibly observant, she knew of my fascination with fire but not the extent.

'Well um … We wanted to come and find you, seeing as the reapings are to begin shortly… um, we're really sorry for having disturbed you, come on Clark' Louise's voice is as soft as a springs breeze and I can hardly decipher her words but I see the sentiment when she nudges Clark and nods towards the pathway which would lead to the residential sector of District 3.

'Oh no, I'll come with you. I wouldn't want to be late to the reapings' I stumble to my feet, and we begin the long walk home and in no time we are caught in genial conversation, but my mind still continues to wander: My inner fire beginning to burn with the need to see something burn.

**Louise Urn, District 3.**

Oh Leo, the boy consumes my every waking thought; not in the romantic sense, our relationship is only ever and will only ever be platonic in its nature but he is one of my only friends; my thoughts of him are tinged with worry, for his safety and more recently his sanity.

I am not the most sociable being, preferring the company of books; but I have spent a lot of time with him and so I have noticed things ever so slightly out of the ordinary, things that no one else would notice. I am slightly bitter that many berate me for having my head buried in a book when in fact I am the one that sees things that seem to elude everyone else. It is I who see the faded burns that criss-cross along Leo's arms, and most likely the rest of his body; I see the almost manic light in his russet coloured eyes whenever he looks at an open flame. I see him for the arsonist he is, but I do not judge him for that is only one half of the penny.

Leo is mostly a humble boy, content with his life despite the material deprivation he has faced, intelligent and wholly respectful. I am on my way to meet him as always before the reapings, and I hope that we will be walking home together again as we have done the previous three years. I see Leo awaiting my arrival; the humble boy, my friend and not the pyromaniac.

Leo isn't handsome, he is very ordinary looking with his shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes, his skin is eerily pale as though his never seen the sun and his features are rather pointed; being the reason that the cowardly bullies christened him a 'sewer rat'. His scrawny frame is concealed by the threadbare brown suit he wears, it is far too big but the best his parents can afford and for that it is his favourite item of clothing; but on his right wrist I see the inch long silver scar, a testament to his strange addiction to playing with fire.

I step into his eye line and notice his eyes widen in recognition before he walks over to me; I decide to meet him halfway.

'Hey Louise, I was reading that book you lent me; very interesting. I loved the symbolism and foreshadowing' He was just trying to get me to talk, very considerate of him seeing as I rarely speak, so I humour him.

'Yes Leo, it's a good book; I thought you'd really appreciate the idea of the author exploring the symbolic potential for fire as something that heals as well as destroys' he looks alarmed at my words, we have spent many hours together in silence with nothing to do but to read or observe one another; does he really think me so dim that I would not notice the scars? His look of utter confusion seems to verify this.

'Oh yeah, well we had better be off to the reapings quickly' He begins to walk and I follow, I allow silence to reign for I do not feel like trying to engage him in a conversation about his unhealthy obsession, I'll wait until these reapings are over.

**Greer Ballentine, District 3.**

I hastily scrape my strawberry blonde hair into a pony tail at the nape of my neck and pull on the pale lemon shirt while trying to squeeze my feet into the one pair of heels that I own, and even they don't fit; If I ever get the time I'll make sure to buy a new pair. Then I take a look at myself in the vanity table that haunts the corner of my room, practically untouched seeing as I use my bedroom for one thing, and that's to sleep. I spend almost all of my time working in father's shop, working in the laboratory so I hardly have any time to waste prancing around like many of the girls here. However cliché it sounds I am a girl who would rather have a good head on her shoulders and fulfil my intellectual potential, than chase around after boys in some stupid attempt to find love. Not that I do not believe in love; I have seen many examples of this, my parents for example are very much in love its just that I do not have the time or motivation to go looking for love yet; I believe that when I am ready to fall in love, it will happen.

Right, back to my reflection; the one major flaw of being intelligent in my humble opinion is that our minds are capable of processing so much that we often find ourselves distracted, unless we have some problem facing us that needs to be solved of course. I'm 5'7'' tall but with the added 2'' from the patent black heels I'm 5'9''; my body is slim and toned, not from exercise but from hauling around a tool box and running from place to place repairing anything from a television to a vehicle carburettor; my almond shaped eyes are the palest shade of green, complementing my strawberry blonde hair and pale skin which is dotted with freckles. My black tweed skirt and yellow blouse look rather smart too; all in all I do look presentable but one thing is missing, I grab my glasses from the vanity and slide them up my nose, now I look presentable. I would have preferred having more time to get ready for the reapings, seeing as my one character flaw is my irrational need for perfection but for once I could care less, for today I am ecstatic. Greer Ballentine has been handed a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Beetee Coggs, Hunger Games Victor but more importantly renowned inventor had a discussion with me today about his current project: strengthening force fields used in the Capitol. I know very little about force fields, in fact I know absolutely nothing but it sparked my curiosity; and once my curiosity is sparked I have to quench the thirst for knowledge that accompanies it. I mean, think of the possibilities: the chance to work with alterations to the major electrical sources, maybe even AC even though it is incredibly dangerous and maybe even work in developing a parallel circuit board which can over ride the main power source.

See, the Capitol may just want a force field and Beetee will work to their specifications but such a project has limitless possibilities; you see it can be adapted to not only be a force field to keep things out but a trap of sort, if you reverse the current you can re direct the flow of energy effectively crushing anything within the boundaries of the force field; also, no matter how much people think technology nowadays have no flaws I know that their wrong: The force field could easily shatter if the electrical current running through it surpasses a particular wattage, it will simply implode. See, I am too obsessed with perfecting the design, maybe if there were a way to re direct the excess of energy the protective sphere would be impenetrable, but how? I wonder how my mind is able to process all of this, while simultaneously contemplating what other scientific achievements I could obtain throughout my life and then the whole idea of me trying to maintain a steady business in electronic repairs to bring some money home.

Before I leave my room I survey it, the periwinkle blue walls and solid oak furniture; something is out of place and I simply cannot leave without everything being in the correct order, if I don't it will be playing on my mind all day and with everything else that is playing on my mind I don't think it is particularly advisable. Ha, I notice the problem my hairbrush is not sat the 90 degree angle to my jewellery box; it seems stupid but I need for these things to be in order, imagine it were an experiment of sort: If I were to misplace particular elements in my lab it could react with either oxygen or any other compound housed there and the results would be horrific, to me it's the same within the confines of my bedroom; everything has its specific place and without it being in the correct place there is the potential that something terrible would happen.

I take one last fleeting look in the mirror and then I know I've forgotten something, I am being exceptionally neglectful of my surroundings today and if I cannot justify this with my excitement concerning Beetee's proposition, I could easily blame it on the reapings; the fear I associate with the Hunger Games secretes epinephrine into my hypothalamus, consequently causing elements of my nervous system to malfunction: effectively making me forgetful and not notice the finer details.

Ah, the Hunger Games causes me to remember: My token. If I were unfortunate to be drafted in as a tribute into the Hunger Games I would have to take my sterling silver pocket watch; although the watch has very little monetary value it has a great significance to me: Made by my father's nimble fingers, the intricacies and the way in which every small component works together to achieve a particular purpose; It is symbolic of me in a sense, I try to ensure that every element of my life runs accordingly with my ambitions and notions: efficiency is of great importance to me as well as striving for perfection.

Since I decide that I am technically ready I head downstairs to eat breakfast with the family, one of the few things that my mother ensures must be done every reaping day although I can think of a plethora of better ways to spend my time; maybe in the lab or doing a few last minute repairs throughout the neighbourhood. My mother asks for very little, so I decide to maintain the tradition every year in order to appease her.

**I know it seems unfinished; the second part will be up soon. Wanted to make sure I updated soon. Let me know what you think though of the tributes. Oh and credit goes to:**

**AvenRose for Greer Ballentine **

**Europa22 for Leonardo Wence.**

**Thanks and I'll put the second part up ASAP. Now, REVIEW! **

**Lawrence :D xx**


	6. A Curious Obsession PART 2

**Hey Hey, Back with the second part of 'A Curious Obsession', which means that at the end of the chapter we're saying goodbye to these two tributes until we get to the Capitol. Oh and next chapter we're back off to District 1 for some Nicoli Spinoza ;)**

**Greer Ballentine, District 3.**

I breeze down the stairs and enter the kitchen, Mom is currently at the stove trying to ensure the breakfast is ready for 10am precisely; my obsessive compulsion for everything to be perfect isn't a trait I inherited from my scatter brained father, my mother is the obsessive one in their relationship. My mother isn't one to strive for perfection like myself; she just needs for everything to be a part of an elaborate routine, to her poor time management may as well be a cardinal sin.

I feel though that something has truly thrown a spanner into the works for it is 9.54am and it doesn't look as though breakfast will be ready in 5 minutes, to some people this would be nothing of concern but for Ivy Ballentine it is as though everything is falling down around her and I can see it. She is fluttering around the kitchen like a crazed bird, throwing the cupboards wide in search of something while grumbling to herself; her auburn hair is scraped back into a messy bun although strands are falling into her face.

My long fingers are itching to pull these strands back into the bun but I stop myself, if my mothers carefully crafted routine is disturbed even minutely well let me say there is usually hell to pay and I most surely don't want to be the person who'll have to face my mothers wrath. Instead I wander over to the kitchen table and sit down on a rickety wooden chair, I have to straighten my fork seeing as it appeared crooked on the place mat; if I couldn't fix mothers hair I'll have to compensate by ensuring that every piece of cutlery is in its correct place. I am in the middle of re arranging the marigolds in their vase when I hear a throaty chuckle, the baritone belonging to the man who has been my role model since I discovered the beautiful thing that is science.

My father, or 'Daddy' as I affectionately call me, is the opposite of my mother; he is incredibly short for a man being only 5'4'' and dwarfed by his wife and children but to me he has always appeared bigger to me; it may be the laugh lines etched permanently onto his face or the lopsided smile, maybe even his warm brown eyes but I doubt it is any of these things. The reason my dad appears to me like this is because of his vast intelligence and love of knowledge; a quality he passed onto me as much as my mother passed on her irrational obsessive nature. His goggles are perched on his head, as lopsided as his smile and the sleeve oh his lab coat appears to be singed; I just shake my head at his dishevelled appearance.

'Daddy, I'm very disappointed in you.' I shake my head yet again and fold my arms, green eyes meeting brown; I cannot fathom why he'd go to the lab without me, if it were anyone else I'd be either crying or stomping my feet in a fit of anger but it is my father so I just let it slide.

'Well, princess I'm going to have to get used to working alone if your going to be assisting Beetee won't I? I mean you are the prodigal child but not even you could be in two places at once can you? Or have you managed to clone yourself now?' I laugh at my father, he seems to always be asking questions but for once I realise he is simply humouring me, I can see it in the twinkle of his eyes yet I still decide to jest with him.

'Well, you see cloning is possible although it would have to be done through nurturing stem cells, imposing a genetic strand from whomever your wishing to clone; and as for my internship, I'll still help you out wherever possible Daddy, I'd never leave you to do all the work. In fact, after the reaping today I'm popping into the Gross', blown their electrics again; I'm seriously considering altering their main circuit board so that the electrons that pass through are not charger enough to create a fire…'

I keep rambling and I see that my father has gone from laughing into the scientist he is, gone are the laughter lines from merely moments ago; now replaced with eyes that are alight with rapt attention, me and father spend literally hours sitting here at the kitchen table indulging in the intellectual debates which are literally like a drug to me. But before we get too engrossed in our conversation my father is silenced by a stern look from my mother, I turn to her and she is holding the plates with out breakfast; she places them before me and father before taking her own seat next to father.

'Now you two, we don't talk about science at the table do we? You two lock yourselves up in that lab all day; so for one second can we talk about anything else. Like normal families, I don't appreciate feeling mentally handicapped in my own home; all these theories and equations literally go over my head.' The conversation dies from there and I play with the scrambled eggs on my plate, usually Mom wouldn't come down so hard on us; it's just that it's the reapings and anything regarding the Hunger Games is a sore spot for my mother.

When she was 14 her elder brother became the tribute for district 3 and well, he didn't survive and so every year on this day my mother mourns the loss of her brother, the uncle that I never met and dreads the possibility that one of her children could be forced into the games. I wish I could comfort her, seeing as both Nash and I have never signed up for tesserae and the population of the district is so immense, the possibility of one of the six slips of paper bearing my name being chosen is statistically so low it may as well be impossible; I don't want to say this though so I think of something to say and try to brighten the atmosphere that seems palpable within the room; someone is missing too and so I decide to use that as a conversation starter.

'So, where is my beloved brother Nash?' I am being deliberately sarcastic, I sincerely love my brother but we just don't seem to see eye-to-eye; he is as intelligent as me but decides to waste said intelligence, favouring the 'party' lifestyle he seems to lead nowadays. Such wasted potential. My mother frowns though before answering, her tone appears to be sorrowful but tinged with bitterness.

'Nash is busy today, I think he went out last night with that Marsden girl; so we won't be seeing him until this evening unfortunately.' I lay down my knife and fork and stare down at my plate; at times I am obsessive and can appear aloof simply because I'm distracted when my mind is moving at a million miles per minute but the one thing ingrained even deeper than my thirst for knowledge is my loyalty: to my family and anyone else in my good graces. I don't know why Nash acts the way he does, and I've learnt not to expect too much from him. But I've always expected that his sense of loyalty was as strong as my own, it appears I was mistaken.

'Well it's his bad Mom, this food is awesome. I can tinker around with chemicals from here until kingdom come, but I'll never be half as good a cook as you' My compliment was completely warranted, my mothers cooking is the best I've ever tasted; the smile that lights up her face was just an unexpected perk.

For the duration of the time before I have to leave for the reapings I help my mother with the housework, or more accurately I follow her around making things perfect; I am placing plates into their cupboard, according to their size and colour when I hear the chime of the doorbell, I glance up at the clock to see that it is 11.30.

'Greer, it's your friends; just on time as always' I walk to the front door to be greeted by my two best friends. Eben Roscoe, the clown of the group who is always trying to coerce me into doing something outrageous and Kia Prescott; the pretty girl who seems to shock people with the fact she is extremely clever, I've heard people say you get looks or brains: in her case she got both.

'Mom, I'd better get going. I wouldn't want to be late now would I?' Mother smiles at my joke and just pulls me into a hug before returning to the kitchen and the pile of other chores that await her.

'So then Greer, how you thinking of celebrating after the reaping? Two more years and we're free.' Eben's enthusiasm is so refreshing, he is always trying to think of things we can celebrate; unfortunately his plans usually fall through seeing as they are simply ludicrous.

'Well, I don't know Mister Roscoe, probably coming home and having a nice meal; what were you thinking' He runs a hand through his ebony hair and widens his clear blue eyes, I don't particularly like that look; it's a look that screams 'do not do it Greer'.

'Oh, well I was thinking that maybe we could get a few bottles of liquor in and celebrate in style' Well he never fails to disappoint me does he? What a lame idea, first of all it is illegal and secondly, what would he get up to if he were intoxicated, he is wild enough when he is sober. Kia just slaps him upside his head, rolling her vivid green eyes as she does so; she shakes her golden locks before nodding towards the road.

We're almost at the town square now, the venue for the reaping ceremony when I spot a familiar face in an alley, a face I really need to talk to so I tell Eben and Kia to go on without me, when they ask why I answer.

'Well, it appears that I need to have a word with my beloved brother.' Kia nods her head in acknowledgement before she grabs Eben's arm and drags him into the crowd, poor boy looks so confused. Without a moment's hesitation I'm storming over to my brother, heels clicking very loudly as I do so.

'You idiotic, insensitive, foolish blithering moron' I am ranting because this boy seriously needs to sort out his priorities; If something were to happen to him it wouldn't be his little drinking buddies who would help him, it would be me, Mom and Dad: his family, a fact my moronic brother seems to have forgotten.

'Whoa sis, what's up with you?' Oh save me from what I'm about to do; my brother may look a lot like me, with his reddish hair and green eyes but we're as different as chalk and cheese; I really cannot be bothered with trying to explain anything to him.

'It doesn't matter Nash, you wouldn't listen anyway. I just think you need to re evaluate your priorities, that's all.' I feel defeated as I slump away from my brother, towards the Justice Building; he just frustrates me so much, and now I'm starting to think that maybe he truly is a lost cause.

**Ellen Wence, District 3.**

I fidget nervously as I wait for the reapings to begin, my little boy's name is in that God forsaken bowl over 20 times but I pray that for once the odds are in our families favour. I cling to my husbands hand, he squeezes it in reassurance; we may not have ever had much money but I love my husband and little boy so much that at times it physically hurts. The district escort, Milena Arrowsmith climbs onto the stage: maroon skin and purple hair, the woman is a sight to behold but I feel my heart begin to race as she stands before the microphone, addressing us all in her extremely high pitched and overly girlish voice:

'Welcome, Welcome to the reapings for the 62nd Annual Hunger Games, aren't you all just buzzing in anticipation? Oh no, that's just the buzz of electricity…Silly me' I laugh, not at the woman's pathetic stab at humour, I'm laughing at the ridiculous notion that we'd be anticipating the day two children are taken to their almost certain death; Personally, I dread reaping day even though many years have passed since I was eligible but there is always the chance that the Games could ruin my life, they could take away my little boy, my little Leo. Milena is now back at the microphone with a white slip of paper in her hand for us all to see.

'Oh, now for the good part, our district 3 female tribute this year is Greer Ballentine' I head a series of anguished cries from somewhere to my left, a girl steps out hesitantly from the 17 year old section; she looks completely shell shocked, eyes wide and mouth agape but in no time she is standing on the stage and tugging on the hem of her black skirt. The cries of grief and pain continue, I cannot help but sympathise with this young girls family; I could never imagine the pain that they feel, knowing that she will more than likely die.

I scan the crowd until I find my little boy; Leo is wearing the brown suit I'd purchased from the local pawn shop, it was ill fitting but it was the best we could afford. He is safe, he'll be home tonight: the quiet, respectful boy who is one of the only things I live for; but this vision of safety is cruelly shattered when I hear Milena coo out the name of the male tribute.

'Leonardo Wence'

'NO!' My scream echoes throughout the crowd, I am struggling forward. I now know the pain the other people had felt: the inevitability that my baby will die. He is tiny, and too fragile for such a barbaric event. Leo seems to ignore my cries and walks onto stage, ever the respectful young boy who obeys all the rules. I am struggling against Michael's arms, my husband is pinning me to his chest as I struggle to break free; yearning to grab my son and run.

'Not my baby, anyone but my baby. Please, I'd do anything…' My please are ignored and I slump into Michael's arms in defeat, tears streaming down my face. I turn to see Michael crying too; in that moment we are united in out grief, our son will compete in the Hunger Games and he will die. What kind of world is it when a mother cannot care for her children? A sick and twisted world; a world that needs to change.

**Nash Ballentine, District 3.**

It feels surreal; this cannot be happening. My little sister cannot be going into the Games, she'll be killed: she doesn't deserve this but there is nothing I can do. Since hearing her name I've been lost in a trance of sorts, waiting for my chance to say goodbye: the last chance to see my sister alive. I cannot comprehend how this happened, she was a prodigy meant to go on and do great things and now that chance has been snatched from her and she has been snatched from us all.

I am not as intelligent as my father or Greer; I have a brain but I just don't use it but I know that mathematically there was little to no chance of her getting picked but it happened. I also know that this will have severe effects on all of us: my mother lost her brother and now she faces the risk of losing her daughter too; I was about to volunteer to help Greer but I know I'd just hinder her in the arena and honestly I do not think mother could cope losing both of her children to these sick games.

I'm led into the Justice Building, and told to wait outside a room. Moments later the door opens and my parents come through it, they look devastated, tears are falling down both of their faces and mother is collapsed in father's arms. I wish I could comfort them, but what would I say? I've done nothing lately to show my family that I love them, I've all but disowned them and for what? To sleep with girls who's names I cannot remember and to get drunk? I am a pathetic excuse of a brother and a son; they probably wish it was me going into the games, and I don't resent that thought. Greer could do so much and what will I do? Most likely: Nothing. They pass me, father nodding in acknowledgement unable to summon words as he drowns in grief. Then it's my turn to say goodbye. I rush in and engulf my sister in my arms, trying to express everything: I'm sorry I've been so useless as of late, I love you and I'll never forget you.

'Greer, I'm so sorry that this is happening, you don't deserve any of this. You've always been the better one, it should be me here.' I try to continue but she pushes me off and her eyes are narrowed.

'Don't be such a fool. I'd never wish you to be in this position; I love you, you're my brother.' I start to cry, that is just so Greer: unyieldingly loyal to anyone she loves.

'G, I really think you can do this. While you're gone I'll help dad, I'll comfort mom. When you get back everything will be how you love it: perfect' She smiles at my words and straightens my tie; obviously when faced with imminent death Greer still finds time to make sure everything is in it's rightful place.

'Nash, thank you. I hope you re connect with Mom and Dad; you have so much potential, don't waste it because they're going to need you now more than ever because frankly I don't think I'm going to make it.' Her face falls and I feel hopeless.

'Well, I know you can do this Greer. And I know that you will, this isn't going to be the last time you'll see me.' My voice resonates with conviction, but my declaration seems to have stumped Greer seeing as she looks utterly bewildered.

'Any pray tell how you know this?' Greer is hanging on my every word now; this is my time to tell her something, anything that could give her the hope or motivation to escape that arena with her life.

'Because Greer, you'll be the tribute that shows the whole of Panem that when it comes down to it: Brains beat brawn, you are the prodigal child after all. How could you not win?' She hugs me again and for once I feel as though I've done something right, I've been the big brother I used to be: the big brother that Greer needs.

**Leonardo Wence, District 3.**

I cannot believe this is happening, I'm being forced onto a train by a squadron of Peacekeepers as though I'm about to try and run. I wouldn't no matter how much I'd like to, it's futile they'd catch me and I'd never break the rules so obviously. Within the month my flame will be extinguished, I refuse to accept this as fact though; I'm only 15, my fire is yet to burn as bright as I know it can. The only achievement I've had to date is when I burnt that wooden building, but that isn't enough. I grab what would be my token in these games: a charred piece of wood I had salvaged from the building, a reminder of everything I need to go home for; a memento of the fantasies I am yet to make a reality, the things I am yet to achieve. The fantasies that can only come to life once 23 others are dead and I leave the arena as a Victor.

The odds of me winning are practically none existent, but I refuse to lie down and accept my 'fate'; I may look like the typical District 3 bloodbath victim, but this isn't true. I will survive this, I have to and on that thought I can literally feel pieces being fit together inside my head: I will act like the bloodbath victim, become overlooked until I burn as brightly, the greatest flame the Hunger Games has ever known. Let the games begin and let it burn. I am alone in the train compartment now; I see a lamp on the marble counter top: a small flame is contained in a glass orb illuminating the whole carriage, this sight angers me for some reason; flames are not to be trapped, they are to be free to burn. It seems irrational, but I see a small portion of myself in this small flame: trapped by the Capitol, used and then discarded; never able to fulfil my full potential.

My inner monologue is brought to an end when a number of people enter the compartment: Milena Arrowsmith, the annoying escort who called my name out of everyone's, she doesn't linger though she leaves as quickly as she entered; the remaining three people however remain and take a seat at the table: Wiress and Beetee, both former Hunger Games Victor's who will be mentors and Greer Ballentine; my district partner and one of the 23 people who must die if I'm to survive. It seems so unfair, like me I'm sure Greer has a family, has potential; it seems more real now I've met another tribute: could I kill this girl in cold blood? Could I snatch her future? The answer is most likely no, that is the job of the Capitol; I walk over and take a seat at the table.

'Well, my name is Beetee Coggs and I'm already acquainted with Miss Ballentine; so tell me a bit about yourself' It takes me a minute to realise it is me that he's addressing; I was taken aback by his tone, it was like when a teacher asks a student to introduce themselves to their peers when they start at a new school.

'I'm Leonardo Wence, sir. I'm 15 years old' I maintain my public persona; the poor boy who is the epitome of good manners and respectful. I'd love to tell him that the Hunger Games are an evil thing, killing innocent children for sport but I remain calm; Beetee is smiling at me affectionately, almost paternally.

'Glad to meet you, there's no need to call me sir though. Now, this is Wiress in case you didn't know and we'll be mentoring you throughout the games.' Wiress focuses on me and smiles but then she looks into the distance and appears to be tuning out.

'Now before we begin I need to ask you both a question: Would you prefer to be trained separately or as a single unit?' The question stumps me, I honestly don't know; I turn to my district partner to see her staring back at me, her pale green eyes seem to be assessing me; I know that look, it's the look I wear when I stare into the heart of a fire and in that moment we agree without speaking, I nod at her and she turns to Beetee.

'Beetee I think we'll be working as a team; we can't do this alone and who'd want to ally with us. You know as well as us that our district's tributes are written off as bloodbaths and I think us two could prove the whole of Panem wrong' I nod my head, she is voicing my thoughts as if they were her own. Maybe we have more in common than I thought; there's a passionate edge to her voice and her strawberry blonde hair is shimmering like a gentle flame. I know that Greer Ballentine has a fire inside of her just like I and between us both who knows what inferno we could create? In that arena we'll be allies and if someone takes us down, they had better be prepared for they will burn with us.

**Ta-Da, Say goodbye to District 3 readers; Oh I love them so much :D and they're allies. I'm keeping most of the tributes strategies under wraps until training etc. Let me know what you think though.. and I know this chapter appears to be Greer heavy but the first part was more Leo and either way they'll still get their time in the spotlight soon enough :D Oh, and a big round of applause to AvenRose and Europa22 for these amazing tributes.**

**Now, review! Tell me what you think, anything you'd like to see. Anything you have to say, I want to hear it! :D **


	7. The Birth of a Witch

**Bala Eaglehawk, District 4**

The sea is the one of the constants in my life, eternal and never changing. To me it is more humane than most of the people who live in Panem, it feels emotion: rage, tranquillity and because of this the sea has become my companion, my only companion. It listens to me in a world where I am alone; the soft ocean spray clears my head of the negative thoughts that threaten to consume me; the crashing wave echoes my rage as I realise I am trapped in this world, freedom seems so close yet out of my grasp. I am truly powerless in this world.

I lay back on the soft sand of the beach, my breath escaping in harsh pants as my muscles coiled and burning from swimming against the current; the sun warms my skin as I close my eyes to listen to the sounds of the wind; the light breeze becoming a symphony to my ears. I open my eyes to track the progress of the sun across the sky, and my attention is drawn to a flock of red tailed hawks flying in a V formation to the nest I know is hidden somewhere in the crags of the cliffs which overlook the sea. Such majestic creatures they are: free to fly where they please, hunting fiercely and respected by the animal kingdom; they are everything I want to, but never can, be. I shake my head to dispel these melancholic thoughts, I cannot allow self-pity on a day like this; today is reaping day and I will save all this pity for the unfortunate tributes that are to be forced into the arena to fight for their lives. Into an arena in which they will most likely die, and what for? As a punishment for their forefather's father's sins, maybe once but now the instigators of the rebellion which we now refer to as 'The Dark Days' are dead and gone. The only purpose for the atrocity that is 'The Hunger Games' nowadays is to provide frivolous entertainment for the Capitol; what is it to them that every year 23 children are raised to the slaughter? Nothing, these emotionless humanoids are our government, the people supposedly responsible for our welfare. This thought causes a burst of cynical laughter to escape my mouth, but beneath this cynicism is a rage that cannot be described with mere words and the wave that crashes onto the shore seems to emphasize this; before I am consumed by this rage I run and dive into the water.

Swimming is the one thing that can calm me, stabilise my mood and bring me genuine happiness; but today it cannot ease my agitation, the crashing waves only enhance the anger that wells deep within my chest. I take the time to look back to the sun in order to determine the time, 3 hours until the reapings or what I prefer to call 'Judgement Day' for it truly decides the fate of those chosen. Although I am 13 the odds are not truly in my favour, both years in which I have been eligible I have had to apply for tessarea and coming from one of the only poor households in the whole of District 4 my name will be in that bowl as many times as people 18 years of age and this cause my breath to hitch, my pulse to race as I feel the familiar stab of fear. As I swim to shore, tears are beginning to form in my eyes and if I cannot calm myself soon I will lose myself in a pit of despair and today of all days I cannot allow my emotions to rule me.

Careers, the word swims to the forefront of my mind; I am safe, even if I am reaped someone will volunteer to take my place. This is District 4, one of the three districts who give the Capitol their much loved 'Career Tributes' and who are they to deprive the almighty Capitol; I can feel my pulse beginning to resume its normal pace and my breath returning to its natural state. I am safe. I pull on the tee shirt I had worn over my black swimsuit, it was once white I think but it now appeared to be a mottled grey, stretched out of shape and covered in holes. I pull on my black sandals begin the trek home in order to get ready for the reapings, we have to look 'presentable' ofcourse, I roll my eyes. Why glorify death? Death is not glorious, it is a cause of pain and grief and in my opinion: Death is not something to be celebrated. As I navigate the streets, I hear it; the words I have heard since I could understand speech, the comments that have become another constant in my life: 'How dare she walk the streets so boldly' 'Witch spawn' 'Her and her evil mother are nothing but scum' 'Death couldn't come to that family quick enough if you ask me'. I sing a random lullaby to try and calm myself, to prevent me turning around and screaming at the ignorant pigs, they know nothing; how dare they continue with their slanderous accusations, they know nothing. My mother is innocent, she never killed that boy; he fell from the cliff, she tried to save him but she failed. She didn't need these people blaming her; she blamed herself enough; plagued by nightmares and trapped in a state of catatonia by her crippling depression. Tears were spilling as I ran the remainder of the way home, as the roads dissolved into mud tracks and the houses reduced in grandeur and became wooden shacks I slowed my pace; the voices echoed in my head, tormenting me and I burst into my house. My home, the one place that I wasn't followed by taunting whispers or abuse; the alternative safe haven to when I was near the sea.

'Bala' My mother's voice frantic as she appeared in the doorway, her black dress hanging from her skeletal frame. Seeing my mother so broken, her hair which was once a dazzling mahogany lay dull and plastered to her head; her dark eyes, once so warm were now devoid of emotion: black holes, framed by the purple rings that were omnipresent on my mother's visage. 'What's the matter, Darling please tell me' Her voice a soft coo, but I could hear the desperate tone that laced her words.

'Nothing Mama' My voice a hoarse croak, I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother about the cruel words; to see her face fall and become absorbed in berating herself, so I lied: 'It's just, you know, the reapings' It was only partly a lie, I was scared just not for myself. My mother just held me as I cried whispering words of encouragement into my hair, I pulled myself together and stood up. It was time to get ready for the reapings.

As I washed with the cold water, I struggled to supress a shiver. What I wouldn't give for hot water right now, I rush into the room I share with my mother and snatch the dress she has laid out for me on the single mattress which we have to share due to our situation; it is a grey cotton pinafore. Once I am dressed and I have tied my dirty blonde hair into a high pony tail and move toward the mirror; I study the reflection. I am small, or maybe petite would be a more suitable word; I stand at 5'4'' but my figure is more womanly than that of any other 13 year old I have seen with my narrow waist, wide hips and well developed chest mean I could pass for around 16 if I desired. I focus on my facial features, my tanned skin making my dark brown eyes appear more prominent, framed by thick ebony lashes and my round face with my broad cheekbones and full lips I wasn't ugly. I was interesting, striking more so than pretty; but I am condemned to a life alone, because of the ignorance of the people here in District 4, eternally misunderstood, forever hated. Before this depression can overwhelm me I decide to leave, it is officially time for the reapings.

Me and mother arrive at the courtyard of District 4's Justice Building, we have arrived much more quickly than I anticipated due to people scurrying from my mothers and I's path as if we were going to slaughter anyone who came too close; I was seething and couldn't wait to get home and just fall back into my routine: Work, home, beach, work, home, beach. I stormed to the booth which had been erected to act as the place where the eligible tributes would sign in. I was signed in and waltzed over to the area designated for 13 year old girls, everyone already gathered cowered from me as I stood at the front of the area: seriously, I have no contagious disease, I cannot kill them by looking into their eyes; my name is Bala not Medusa. I supress a growl but my attention is quickly diverted as Mayor Coral climbs onto the stage. And so it begins.

As mandatory, she begins with reciting the Treaty of Treason; the Capitols pathetic excuse for murdering 23 children on an annual basis. Reminding us of the 'Dark Days' which none of us really experienced or had a hand in, I am trying so hard not to scream in frustration. Then comes Flavio Redforks, the escort: the Capitolite fiend brought here to escort people to their deaths. He stands there in his full cosmetically enhanced glory: skin dyed a garnish shade of magenta and his hair a lavender afro. The fool. He bounces up and down in excitement; of course, the humanoid would be excited it's not as though he will ever feel the dread we experience the districts. Nobody he knows or cares about will ever face the arena; this man seriously makes me sick. He then begins to speak in his high voice with the annoying Capitol twang:

'Well, well, well I'm so excited to be here again. Oh I can't wait, can you? Never mind, let's meet the lucky tributes then shall we? Oh yes, I think we shall' I can't help but think this man must seriously love the sound of his own voice as he bounces over to the crystal bowl that holds the names of the female tributes. My name is in there only 6 times, and there are thousands of people here. The odds are in my favour, the odds are in my favour, please let the odds be in my favour.

'Bala Eaglehawk' the odds are not in my favour, not in my favour at all. I am screaming on the inside, panic is looming over me but I am safe. The volunteers; but no one is rushing towards the stage, what? Instead people are turning to face me, sadistic smiles on their faces. I'm confused. He calls out my name yet again and I snap, pushing through the crowds literally growling at anyone in my path. I storm onto stage my face an expressionless mask projecting nonchalance and brutality: surprisingly, the face of a career, the bloodthirsty brutes I have hated for years. No one volunteers and now I know why. People are muttering and I can discern phrases like:

'..Fitting punishment for the witch let her watch her child die...suffer'

That is it, no one has volunteered for me for a crime my mother has 'supposedly' committed so many years ago; Disgusting, prejudice. Well that settles it, I'm coming home. I will prove my mother's innocence, and I will make everybody who has ever taunted me suffer; the way my mother and consequently me have suffered for years. With this conviction I snatch the microphone from Flavio and address the whole of district 4, my voice hard and cold, sounding completely alien to my ears:

'Hello District 4, hope you enjoy my games but most of all I hope you enjoy my home-coming. For I will come back and you people who have taunted me, you will pay. That is a promise. I Bala Eaglehawk, will return Victor and there isn't a thing any of you can do to stop me. You want to see a witch, you'll see one' Once I have delivered my speech, I turn and storm into the Justice Building without even waiting to see who the male tribute would be, he is just someone who will have to die to make sure I come home; and to punish District 4, it will be me that kills him.

Sitting here in the Justice Building, with the plush crimson carpet and the fine oak furniture. Luxuries I had never really seen in my 13 years on this Earth, beautiful but entirely pointless in my opinion. I am scared, I could die within the week but now there is something inside me; a creature that thirsts for blood and revenge. I intend to feed this creature. I am not a cruel person, I gain no sadistic pleasure in causing others pain but I have been pushed to my limits; the calm girl I once was must disappear in order for me to get out of the arena. A monster must be born, no matter how much it repulses me. I gulp and rub my eyes; it seems so real now. By the end of the day I will be on my way to the Capitol, a tribute in The Hunger Games. I take a deep breath before cataloguing anything that could help me survive: I am fast, I can swim, I can fish, I can use a knife, I know some edible plants but that's it. It doesn't seem like much, but it's all I have and it will have to do; it sure seems I have a lot to learn during the training process. My internal monologue is brought to an end as my mother appears in the doorway for the second time today. I rush into her arms; at times like this a girl really needs her mother:

'Mom, what's going to happen to me?' I look up and see silent tears streaming down my mother's face, her eyes red and swollen:

'I don't know baby, I'm sorry this is all my fault, you-'

'This is not your fault mom; did you hear what I said? I'm coming home, and not in a box' My lame attempt at humour brought a smile to my mother's thin lips but I can tell she is still tearing herself up, so I cup her face.

'Mom, listen. Stay strong and I'll be back in no time, I promise you. They are nothing, stay strong and keep your head held high' She nods her head and hugs me again, simply whispering endearments. For this one moment I feel truly safe, the way you can only feel safe in a mother's arms and I feel tears making tracks down my cheeks. I don't know how long I just stayed there in my mother's arms but in no time the Peacekeepers have come to escort my mother away and I cling to her as if she were a lifeline. She pushes me away to hold me at arm's length and a sad smile lights up her face, she pushes something into the palm of hand and whispers:

'Your token' before she is dragged away by the Peacekeepers. It's time, before the Peacekeepers return to escort me to the Capitol train I look down at what my mother has given me as a token. It is a wooden carving of a red-tailed hawk on a chain of black string; the detail is immaculate as it depicts the bird of prey in flight but what moves me to tears are the words that have been carved on the underside of the wing in my mother's neat script: 'Hope is the key to freedom'. As the Peacekeepers come to collect me, I am infused with hope and more than ready to enter the arena and win my freedom and then to return here to District 4 and right the wrongs.

**A very big thanks to Elfera for the wonderful tribute :D I hope I got her character right, so let me know what you think dearest readers; I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts.**

**Thanks,**

**Lawrence xxx**


	8. When David Met Goliath PART 1

**Hey, I apologise for the late update; just moved back to Uni and I've been busy catching up with my housemates and all that jazz. :D But here it is…**

**Oh and it got pointed out that I forgot to credit people for creating tributes; Literally, I'm so sorry. I'm too scatterbrained for my own good! :D**

**So, let's say a BIG Thank You to:**

**Sophie Elizabeth, for Sandy Burghardt**

**AshBuggy, for Claude Dew**

**MorningHutcherson202, for Livvya Howell**

**AND PenMagic for pointing it out! So, I think that's all for now…**

**Mags, District 4 Mentor**

Lived a good old life I have; me, eldest living victor nowadays. 5 years I was born before them Hunger Games, since then they killed off 1403 young pups, 1426 by the end of these games and what for eh? 67 blooming years old I am and I'll never know the answer to that question. Were only 5 when it began, but I know Panem were a better place before them, and what gets this old woman out of bed everyday is the hope that one day, before I croak me last breath, Panem will be the way it was when I was just a little pup. Hope, a very powerful thing; and trust me, at 67 I know that as a fact.

Been a mentor now for 52 of me 67 years, since winning the 10th Games; that's 104 of me pups I've sent and then tried to get out of that damned arena. Done pretty well to if I must say, brought 18 pups back here to the litter, but I've lost most of them: morphling, suicide and all that. Me though, still here and all because of hope. I weren't expected to win me games, being only 15 and all but I did; cause of hope and because I've got a good head on me shoulders. I've hung onto that hope every year since, and you can call me a batty old woman if you must, but I got a feeling in me old bones that tell me this we're all going to see change. A very much needed change I must say.

Reaping day is almost over now, just got me girl tribute; added me new pup to the litter. That Bala, good pup I can tell. Reminds me of meself a little, they don't expect her to come home and she isn't that liked because of that poppycock rumour bout her mother, a good egg if I've ever seen one: That woman isn't a killer, I should know. A runt she is, that Bala, but there is a fire in her eyes; that glint of determination I know all too well, the glint that says she is one to watch and will cause all sorts of surprises, and the little speech she gives after her reaping is proof of my assumptions.

'Hello District 4, hope you enjoy my games but most of all I hope you enjoy my home-coming. For I will come back and you people who have taunted me, you will pay. That is a promise. I Bala Eaglehawk, will return Victor and there isn't a thing any of you can do to stop me. You want to see a witch, you'll see one'

Definitely a fire and one if untended could create an inferno, well this pup has some yap and as she storms offstage I can't help but think I may be grooming another victor. Ocean Naylor nudges me; oh another one of me pups but he isn't one I like too much, won himself the 54th games with his spear skills: a career through and through.

'Well Mags, looks like you and her will be having a lot of fun; seems as feisty as you, you old dog.' The bloody cheek of youth nowadays eh? We will be having fun, as he so aptly put it, I'll be bringing her home if it's the last thing this 'old dog' ever does.

'Aye, fire in 'er eyes. I'll be working' wi' her, you can 'ave your career. It ain' all 'bout brawn Ocean, you gotta 'ave a brain as well.' He laughs at my garbled speech, all tanned skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. Thinks he knows it all, poor pup; he knows nothing and he can laugh all he likes. I'd like to see him survive a stroke and live to tell the tale like I have, he wouldn't; his head is empty, all he has is that 'career training' and I know that doesn't help you with anything apart from becoming an arrogant fool. Mr. Naylor here is all the evidence I'm ever going to need on that front. So, what is there to a bit of not-so-friendly competition between mentors eh?

I turn back to watch that Capitol whelp, Flavio Redforks with all those cosmetic alterations that mar what may have been handsome features and that purple wig perched on his overly large head as he reaches into the male reaping bowel; If Bala isn't here to see her competition I'll do it for her, I am the mentor after all. The mentor who is going to help Miss. Eaglehawk come back here to district 4 to her mother and live up to the promises she just publicly declared.

The escort waltzes over to the microphone, I try rather hard to not look directly at the fool, the pink hue of his skin is so bright it could blind a woman of my age and my eyesight is rather important to me, it's remained when other things have faded throughout the years. Me hearing isn't as sharp as it once was, me speech is almost indistinguishable by most and me old body is frail. I am not going to go blind on top of all the other problems which plague me old body.

'Neptune Odessius' I look into the crowd to find a young lad emerging from the congregation of 16 year olds, got a nice strong build and bright greens eyes but before he makes it to the stage he is thrown to the ground rather violently by another lad, extreme and unnecessary violence isn't required until you get into the arena. Seems like we have a volunteer, not rare her in District 4 but I can tell there's something a little 'off' about this one and I don't like it, I don't like it one bit.

He has the typical career build, 6'3'' I'd estimate since he would dwarf my hunched frame easily; he has sun kissed skin so I would hazard a guess he was a worker on the ships, strong too I'll assume seeing as his long limbs ripple with clearly defined muscles; I'll give it to the boy too, that he is incredibly handsome in the sense of having broad cheekbones, plump lips and that shaggy brown hair that the youths of today deem 'cool' so he will having no trouble in getting sponsors at all; but something about this young man irks me: arrogance, the smirk on his lip screams that he believes himself to be the Victor already, if only it was that easy boy, if only. He'll be the perfect tribute for Naylor, arrogant and brawny.

My suspicions regarding the boy are confirmed once he has mounted the stage, he turns to the crowd and he winks; the whole situation becomes more pathetic in my humble opinion when girl in the audience begin to swoon and call out 'We love you Kai', these young girls have no self respect. In my day you never saw a respectable woman swoon over a man, the men pursued the women and courted them; how times change. Flavio bounces over to the boy, clapping his hands like a child presented with a shiny toy.

'Oh, I always get so, so excited when someone volunteers. It's so majestic, so what is your name?'

'Well, the name is Thallasa, Kai Thallasa and I'm glad to introduce myself to you all here today as the future Victor of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games' He smirks as his statement is met with a huge roar of applause; the misguided idiots who are gathered seem to be pampering the lads blatantly over sized ego. Flavio steps forward in order to conclude the ceremony but is stopped by Kai throwing his hand out.

'Although it isn't customary I think I should follow in my ever so charming district partner's footsteps and give a small speech if that's ok ?' The escort begins to nod his head with such fervour that I think his wig will fall from his head, Thallasa just smirks at this.

'Well I do not come here promising revenge like our districts dearest witch spawn, I only promise that I'll be a fine ambassador of our glorious district and that when I return I will bring our home the much deserved honour it has been deprived of for the last few years. Oh and as for the 23 other tributes I'll face in the arena: May the odds be ever in your favour, for once you'll seriously need them. Thank you' what an arrogant little twerp? It seems my opinion isn't representative of the whole populace though, for they are stamping their feet, clapping and calling out in support of the lad, even Naylor is on his feet clapping in appreciation.

I hobble forward to shake his hand; since Bala is absent I as mentor have to represent her. He grasps my hand firmly and I look up into his eyes: chocolate brown but they radiate no warmth, cold and steely they are. Call me superstitious if you will, or even decree me senile, but these are not the eyes of a pup, these are the eyes of a bloodhound or a wolf; there is some shadow hanging over this boy, and in all my ears I've never seen anything like it and I am more than a little scared.

I look over to Naylor, he just raises an eyebrow claiming Kai as the tribute he will mentor; a smug grin on his face but he shouldn't be smug, not at all. He may be brawny but that isn't everything and I can literally see the lines being drawn. Bala vs Kai, David vs Goliath. Let the battle begin.

**Bala Eaglehawk, District 4.**

I lay eyes on my district partner for the first time as I am led by a squadron of Peacekeepers towards the train station, towards the Capitol. He is, for want of a better word, terrifying; he is everything a tribute, a career specifically trained to enter these games and slaughter anyone who crosses his path and then there's me. I thought I could do this but my resolve is crumbling; I take a deep breath to calm myself, and then I walk towards the train and enter the compartment, it's empty and I sigh in relief. I cannot do this, I'm 13 and that boy is a mountain: tall and strong. The silence is broken when I hear a voice, a baritone laced with malice.

'Oh if it isn't the witch spawn' I turn and it is my partner, his eyes narrowed at me; the eyes of a predator as they stalk their prey. A multitude of responses swim in the forefront of my mind but I remain silent, I have no interest in provoking the boy before me; he looks lethal and I can only imagine the damage he could do.

'Well, why so quiet eh? Not as fiery now are you? Ha, your little show was very entertaining I must admit but everything you said: empty promises. How can you expect to win? You're a scrawny little bitch. Oh, and I'll have you know that it'll be my pleasure to rid District 4 of you and your witch mother forever.' My temper is beginning to flare, at first I thought this boy simply didn't like me; but his eyes shine with an emotion I cannot name, a hunger and although I can only ever guess my assumption is that the hunger is for blood, or more specifically my blood. My earlier fear has vanished as I draw myself to my full height.

'Oh, spare me the threats you arrogant bastard, you don't know what'll happen; but let me tell you, no promise actually, that I'll do everything I can to make sure your brought back in a box.' His eyes widen in shock, as if someone actually standing up for themselves and not agreeing with his words is a capital crime. Well too bad, I won't play by his rules.

'You bitch, you'll pay for that' He flies towards me, admittedly he is fast but I dodge his charge; I jump onto his back and the momentum carries us crashing into the table, he tries to turn but my knee is placed between his shoulder blades. I've never been attacked but I feel strange, the adrenaline gushing through my veins makes me stronger and more powerful.

'Well, how does it feel to be beaten by a 13 year old witch now?' My ears are ringing and he struggles in vain to over power me, but this still doesn't keep his mouth shut.

'Once I get back I will kill your mother, like she killed that little boy.' I see red, I cannot describe the rage I feel, the way he has attacked me in the most personal sense, targeted my weakest spot; I snatch a knife that was thrown to the floor as we fell to the floor and without thinking I pull back his head and place the serrated edge along his throat.

'One more word from you, you arrogant bastard and I'll slit your throat and then gut you like a fish. Learn to play nicely with the other children' he has the nerve to laugh, and so I slowly draw the blade against the exposed flesh of his neck; not too hard but hard enough to draw blood and then I do something I'd never usually do, I bring the knife to my lips and lick the scarlet fluid from the knife's edge. I scramble from on top of him in a worried frenzy, what's happening to me? I have been a tribute in the games for only over an hour, and I've started to become a monster; something despicable, the witch that my District have christened me all my life.

Before he gains his feet I am out of the door and running through the corridors, I'll face the repercussions for my rash actions later, and then once again in the arena; but now I finally do realise I'm not weak, I am strong and my resolve is back. I hear someone else enter the train and then I hear Flavio Redforks' shrill voice.

'Oh my goodness, what has happened in here?'

**This is a shorter chapter, I wanted to upload as soon as possible but do not worry the second part will be up either later today or tomorrow and then District 4 will be over with until we arrive at the Capitol. I found Mags incredibly difficult to write and we'll see more of her in the next chapter. Thanks to backt0theburrow for Kai, he'll have his time in the spotlight next chapter too ;)**

**Now review, I love to hear your thoughts :D xxx**


	9. When David Met Goliath PART 2

**Hey, Hey, Hey! Back yet again with the conclusion of 'When David Met Goliath'… this is the last you'll be seeing from District 4 for a while so a final thanks to the creators of the tributes :D**

**Bala Eaglehwak – Elfera**

**Kai Thallasa- Backt0theburrow**

**Oh, and explanation for the fighting:**

**Peacekeepers never board the train with the tributes; they are usually greeted by their escorts and mentors. Well in this scenario the escort and mentors were absent. So sue me ;)**

**Kai Thallasa, District 4.**

I am shell shocked, and I cannot think of a response to Flavio's question. What did happen here? In all honesty I do not know; I, Kai Thallasa was overpowered by the little bitch. It isn't right; I am the one who has been trained all my life to slaughter my opposition but I have been brought down by some pathetic 13 year old. This will never happen again, and in compensation I will give her a death filled with prolonged pain within the arena; I can imagine it now: my spear dripping with her blood as I slowly press it into her throat, silencing her pitiful pleas for mercy and a quick death. Revenge is truly ever so sweet, and with that thought I arrange my handsome features into an apologetic smile before answering the inquiry of my useless escort.

'Oh Flavio, I'm ever so sorry. I was just simply amazed by the grandeur of the compartment; I was simply trying to rush around and see it all. In my eagerness I fell, knocking over the table' my smooth words seem to appease Flavio as he rushes forward to fuss over me and telling me how I have all the time to look at everything the Capitol has to offer and I do not blame him for believing my lie, my charm is infallible seeing as it gets any girl I want on her back; but I look over to see that my mentors were not as easily fooled, Ocean is watching me with his blonde eyebrows raised and his blue eyes curious and Mags, the old hag is tutting and shaking her head. Oh well.

'So Kai, it's time for you to say whether or not you'd like to be trained alone?' Naylor breaks the silence that has engulfed the room; I am insulted he needs even bother asking the question.

'Yes, I would like to be trained alone. Sorry Mags, but I also would prefer to be mentored by Ocean. I think he would most benefit me in the games' Ocean was a career like myself, he'll know the tricks and in all honesty I didn't want to spend too long with the batty old woman anyway.

'No worries, too arrogn' for me likin' anyways. I'll go fin' Bala' with that the old woman shuffled from the compartment to find the girl who'd viciously attacked me, what a pair those two would make: The old hag and the little witch.

'Don't worry about the old dog, she is a little strange but anyway we need to talk a little about strategy, no matter how well you're trained we've got to get a strategy together as soon as possible; or else you'll die, blunt I know but I need you to be prepared' I don't answer his question immediately, instead I turn to Flavio who has been bustling around trying to tidy the mess over by the table and turn on my charm.

'Flavio, although I hate to sound rude I can't help but ask if you could make yourself scarce. I'd appreciate to discuss strategy with my mentor privately' Flavio just nods his head and bounces out of the room, leaving me and Ocean standing in the room; as I move to sit my actions are mirrored by my mentor as he takes a seat of his own. I decide to break the silence.

'Right, first of all I'm a career and I'll undoubtedly be joining the career alliance'

'Not exactly, I know you're incredibly skilled Kai seeing as I did have a hand in training you' although he cut across me I smile at his words, it's good when someone recognises your skill, especially when they describe it as incredible.

'But the only guaranteed careers are those from 1 and 2, you'll need to impress whoever is leading the alliance and they should ask if you'd like to join' I hold my hand up, as if to ask permission to speak.

'Your worries aren't necessary Ocean, I will have no need to impress anyone seeing as I will be leading the pack. If anyone questions that I'll ensure they die in the blood bath, career or not' Ocean simply smiles at my confidence, he doesn't question me though just nods his head before climbing to his feet and going to exit the compartment but at the last minute he turns around to face me.

'Kai, I have complete faith in you. I know you have the potential to win this but don't get too comfortable and don't trust anyone; your arrogance will work against you' what? Who does he think he is, confusing my well earned confidence with arrogance? I don't want to aggravate my mentor though; he is the man who'll be negotiating sponsorships on my behalf and for now he is a valuable asset. I simply laugh before grinning at him and replying.

'Well arrogance seems to work well for you' he returns my grin before exiting the room but I hear his departing words clearly enough.

'Well I've already won' yes, he had won but his games were 'boring' and no other tribute truly posed a challenge; so he needs to re evaluate his self opinion. I rise from the chair and position myself near a window; I see landscape blurring as the train flies through whichever district we currently occupy, I catch my reflection in the glass: the reflection of someone who has trained a large portion of his life to compete in the Hunger Games.

I am incredibly handsome, this is a renowned fact in my home district; the girls literally line up to simply glimpse at me and however cliché it sounds girls have collapsed in ecstasy as soon as I speak, smile or even look at them. So I'll be having no problems in gaining sponsors and as for when I'm in the arena: I will kill, indiscriminately and even more importantly I will enjoy it. I am not one of these weak souls who will remember those that have fallen at my hand; if they cannot beat me it is evidence they do not deserve to live. These are valuable skills indeed but my greatest strength isn't my extensive training, my looks or even my undeniable charm; my greatest strength is that I do not 'feel'. I should love my family; my parents have raised me and nurtured me to become the phenomena that stands here today, my younger sister Marina idolizes my every action and talks about how much she admires me as her big brother. I do not reciprocate these emotions, where I should feel this familial love there is simply cold detachment; an emotionless void of sorts.

My reflection is marred however, a faint pink line trails the width of my throat; a cut from Bala. Some may say it shows I am not as invincible as people seem to think, and yes it has made me re-evaluate my district partner; in this scenario she got one up on me, but I now the advantage is mine seeing as I know that she has a quick temper. This temper of hers shows me that she allows her emotions to rule her, and I am more than willing to exploit that temper of hers in order to win. Now as for the other 22 tributes I will annihilate, well they will all have weaknesses and I will have no problem when it comes to capitalizing on them.

**Bala Eaglehawk, District 4**.

What have I done? I am so stupid, I'm not even in the Capitol yet and I have a distinct feeling that I have a big, fat target pasted on my back; what possessed me to attack him? Yes, he tried to provoke me by talking about my mother, but I've heard it a million times before and not once have I ever gotten into a physical confrontation; never have I ever acted like such a rabid animal.

I wonder how I'll be punished. Technically I have broken the rules; tributes are not meant to fight one another until we enter the arena, but really I'm already doomed to a fight to the death so how can I be punished? A prolonged death, at the hands of one of the genetically altered mutts; or some other gory spectacle created by the Game makers.

My worrying is cut short by a series of sharp raps to the door that separates me from whatever the consequences are for my earlier actions: is it Peacekeepers here to take me into custody? Why would they, I am already a prisoner of the Capitol. Maybe Kai has come here to gain some form of vindictive retribution? More likely but I seriously doubt he'd be stupid enough to kill me here on the train; he'll wait for the arena where he can kill me as brutally without any fear of punishment.

'Bala, open the door now; us ol' uns ain't made for standin' aroun' all day' I open the door slowly dreading whatever reaction Mags would have regarding my assault of Kai; surprisingly she is wearing a toothless grin and her eyes are hidden in the folds of skin surrounding her eyes. I am taken aback by her reaction; shouldn't she be scolding me for my behaviour? But no, the elderly lady seems almost happy; I feel awkward with her standing in the doorway.

'Oh, I'm sorry. Come in and take a seat; ermmm…why are you here exactly? I'm sorry again if that sounded rude?' I am getting flustered, it's not often I'm faced with a woman seen as a legend back home; and well nobody has ever really tried to engage me in conversation before, they generally prefer the hurling insults approach.

'Kin' of you, like wha' you did with tha' Kai lad, pu' him in his place. You showed him you ain' a weaklin', I respec' tha' Wow, I'm being praised for breaking the rules, maybe the rumours are true and she is senile.

'I respect your opinion, but aren't you worried what will happen? I'm going to be his number one target? I'm assuming that you'll be acting as my mentor, so any advice on what to do?' Silence reigns yet again, Mags appears to be ringing her hands and I feel slightly aggravated she hasn't answered my question yet. Isn't that the purpose of a mentor? To advise me on how to escape with my life; I wait patiently for an immeasurable amount of time and then I simply cannot take it anymore, I am about to open my mouth when Mags looks directly into my eyes.

'You're one of me pups now Bala, an' I'll do everythin' I can t' make sure you win. I'll be bringin' you back to me litter' She smiles at me and I'm touched by her words. Pup, a term of endearment; some wouldn't find it to be something worthy of noticing but to me it is everything I ever wanted: acceptance, and for the first time I realize I am not truly alone in this.

'Thank you Mags for your kind words, and I'm honoured to be one of your pups. But would you care to enlighten me as to how I'm meant to survive?' I worry that my question is maybe too forward and I do not want to lose Mags' good favour; since she'll have complete control over any gifts I receive in the arena. It seems that my concerns are unfounded as Mags gives a throaty chuckle and rewards me with another of her toothless grins: she then reaches over to tap my knee, a sign of genuine affection and I return the smile.

'Well, you go' tha' fire in your eyes pup, an' tha' is a sign of a victor; righ' the basic plan is…'

**Haha, I'm not giving away Bala's strategy just yet, so you'll have to wait. Now it's time to say goodbye to our District 4 tributes for now. Now leave a review letting me know what you think of our dysfunctional pair ;)**

**Now, I don't know whether to introduce a new district or return to a previous one? Anything you'd like to see in particularly? :D **

**LOVES YAH xoxo**


	10. A Presidential Interlude

**OKAYYYY I know I said it was going to be the District 11 Reaping chapter but alas, I thought I'd do something different! **

**So, methinks that we need to go to the Capitol ;) To meet our wonderful President Snow...**

**Now, soon I will be beginning a collaborative SYOT with AvenRose, amazing author check out their work, and it's going to need tributes and I want to get my 12 ASAP! So, PM me with your completed forms… The form is at the end of this Chapter! Or PM AvenRose! The story won't begin straight away, you'll have to be patient, we both have other stories to work on…But your patience will be rewarded, the story promises to be EXPLOSIVE! **

**Now on with the story…**

**President Coriolanus Snow, the Capitol.**

I stare at the pathetic man before me, disgust the predominant emotion plaguing me at this precise moment in time; but he wouldn't be able to tell, my face is arranged into the expressionless mask I have perfected in my 40 years of presidency. I taste the bitterness of his fear on my tongue alongside the puss that weeps from the ulcers that fill my mouth. He is fully aware that I could snap my fingers and both he ands his entire family could become extremely clumsy and have an awful accident which would certainly cost them their lives.

To arrange such an accident, although entertaining would be rather irrational; I am seething, livid in fact but not at this man, he is merely the bearer of bad new and a man of my status would never be rash enough to shoot the messenger, seriously maim however is another thing. A gloating smile blossoms onto my puffy lips and I make my decision, I place my long finger against the red button beneath my desk and suddenly the room is full of Peacekeepers, armed and ready for action. I raise my hand to prevent them shooting the man.

The man is petrified, knowing that happiness is not what awaits him; he raises his shaking hand to wipe away the sweat building on his brow, pleading for mercy with his turquoise eyes when he knows there is no chance of me bestowing mercy, his pleas are futile; how will me sparing this man benefit me? Not at all and I see the light fade from his eyes, the feeling of crushing hope from another being is the most intoxicating feeling a man could ever feel, it surpasses the realm of physical pleasure.

'Now, take this man into custody, he is to become an avox. There is to be no trial, if anyone asks he is guilty of treason against our beautiful Capitol' the Peacekeepers converge on the man, he is dragged from the office but his screams of terror seem to echo pointlessly, he will receive no saviour. I turn to the large bay windows behind my desk and stare out towards my Capitol. The streets are literally paved with gold, the most stunning pieces of architecture made from onyx, marble and every other precious substance Panem has to offer constitute our skyline. Beautiful, and this beauty is in danger; the Dark Days threaten to return, Panem will fall apart at the already poorly hewn together seams.

The man brought tales of uprisings, of plots of rebellion; of something that threatens to shatter the calm that has reigned over Panem for the previous 62 years. I walk forward, trailing my fingers along the smooth oak of my desk; lingering to sniff at the bouquet of roses taken from my personal green houses, the heavy scent saturates the room, disguising the odour of blood that follows me wherever I go; the reminder of the blood on my hands.

I will not tolerate this, there must be no rebellion; we cannot openly attack a district for that would invite further rebellion, I cannot allow for war to break out over my Panem. To lose the districts means to lose our 'Panem et Circenses', our bread and circus; however pitiful I find the Districts I concede that they are essential in the maintenance of Capitolian life. The Hunger Games were meant to stop any form of insurgence, to vanquish any hope they clung to after their defeat at the hands of the Capitol but alas, this is not the case. The districts have clung to this troublesome emotion with such fervour, hope is like a thorn which blemishes the flawless stem of my beautifully enhanced roses and I will not allow it to fester anymore.

In a way I must accept a small portion of the blame regarding this predicament; to allow the district's to have their Victor is to give them hope; the other option is to take 24 random children and execute them all which would cause more trouble, not trouble that is not a strong enough word to describe the catastrophic consequences: It is an open invitation for rebellion. You see, the Victors are not the concern; in all honesty they are beneficial seeing as they are willing to pay the Capitol back for their lives with only a little gentle persuasion. No, the problem resides with the tributes that perish within the arenas; physically they're broken but everyone see's them: The intolerable tributes who die with that fierce defiance shining within their eyes; the ones who refuse to become a piece in our games, refuse to entertain us the way they should.

Things need to change, this year must be a year in which there is no defiance and every tribute has the wretched hope crushed from them; this year the arena must not be centred on physical torment, in place it should focus on breaking the tributes mentally. There is no place in my Panem, my Eden for any tribute to question the authority of the Capitol; no place for someone who dares try to give hope to the districts.

It seems I may need a bigger hand within these games, this year my own hand will be the one to suppress the hope; it is so much more fun for there to be hope, more as a contained flame but it threatens to become an inferno and well, President Snow will not allow this to happen. I resume my seat at the plush velvet armchair at my desk; I press the buzzer to activate the communilink, the device linked to my secretary 24/7.

'Amaria, please make sure that the Head Gamemaker is sent to my office. Immediately. Bring a selection of cakes and tea.'

'Yes sir, anything else you require?' her tinny voice emanates from the speaker at the corner of the desk, ever eager to please isn't she?

'I would like profiles of every tribute brought to me as soon as possible. And for you to be awaiting me in my private quarters at 6pm exactly. That is all, good day to you'

'Yes dear president, your wish is my command' although the speaker disguises her voice, I can distinguish the way she had lowered her voice to make it sound more husky; there is a tightening in my groin and I extinguish the connection. Awaiting the imminent presence of my newest Gamemaker, Seneca Crane.

**What a creep eh? Thought you'd like a small insight into Snow's mind, plus reapings can be repetitive and I thought you would like something a little different! But I will be doing the District 11 Reapings next…Promise!**

**Here's the tribute form for the Capitol SYOT, It will have a better title soon…**

**Tribute Form.**

**BASICS**

**Name:**

**Nickname:**

**Age: **

**District :( None applicable they're all coming from the Capitol) **

**Appearance (Please be descriptive, not just a list of adjectives; These are Capitolites, make them weird and wonderful. There are no rules):**

**Personality (Be detailed, I do need to get a grasp of your character, if I don't they will be more than likely blood bathed; these are Capitol people, they're gonna be a little weird although there will be some normalish ones!):**

**Family:**

**Friends/Other Relationships:**

**Background:**

**Hobbies:**

**Reaped/Volunteered: **

**Reaction/Reason: **

**Greatest Fear:**

**Greatest Desire:**

**Status in District: **

**Reaping Outfit:**

**Token:**

**Opinion on Hunger Games:**

**CAPITOL**

**Strengths:**

**Weaknesses:**

**Interview Angle (Include any quotes you would like included):**

**Training Strategy:**

**Alliances- if so what are they looking for in an ally:**

**Training Score:**

**How they achieve training score:**

**Reaction to their score: **

**How do they communicate with the other tributes?**

**Trivia (Anything you think I need to know):**

**THE GAMES: **

**Overall strategy:**

**Bloodbath/Cornucopia Strategy:**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Romance:**

**Reactions to seeing someone die:**

**Capabilities to kill:**

**Why should your tribute win?**

**REVIEW and submit tributes, if I get too many submissions I will end up choosing my top 12 as will AvenRose; we will be discussing which tributes to take forward.**

**Loves Yah as always… xxx**


	11. Little Miss Not so Sweet

**Oh, although there haven't been many reviews I have received some amazing feedback via PM, the tributes are shaping up nicely: 14 tributes submitted so far :D But seriously guys, I really, really need more male tributes so PLEASE submit males! Now, here is Autumn and I seriously love her...**

**Autumn Thorn, District 5**

Ha, The Hunger Games; an annual event that strikes immense fear into the hearts of everyone who lives in the districts of Panem; but not me. When I think of the Hunger Games, the first word that pops to mind is not death, not pain, not fear. No, the word that springs to mind is opportunity. An opportunity for a better life, an opportunity to afford my father's much needed medicine. In all honesty my thoughts haven't been like this once my heart was filled with that throat clenching fear but my circumstances changed, and so did my view of the world; or more particularly the Hunger Games.

You see, I adapt. I adapt to whatever situation faces me, face me with a comedian and I will laugh or in the presence of my superiors I will speak when spoken to, act respectfully. Adaptation is the key to survival; adapting is what has kept my family alive since the accident. The accident at the power plant which has left my father, my 'Papa' bed ridden for the past 5 years; consumed with fever, his condition deteriorating ever since. My family: we adapted, changed our way of life. My mother, once a dutiful housewife who would be seen cleaning; a smile etched onto her pretty face. Now, she is Shea Thorn the pickpocket, she may not be proud of what she has to do; but she has to, and we need the money much more than the pompous merchant families. My sister, 9 year old Twila; she used to paint and make sculptures to escape the harshness of reality; they were simply a representation of her escapism. Now her art is nothing but a commercial trade to bring money into the household, the money needed to purchase father's remedies. However, the one and only remedy which could truly alleviate his symptoms is far too expensive for a family of district 5. The only people who could afford the concoction are citizens of the Capitol, or maybe the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games.

And so we come in full circle, back to me; Autumn Thorn, future Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games. Yes, I intend to enter the arena and win; I know I can survive, why I hear you ask? Because the key to survival is to adapt, and one thing I can do is adapt; Plus, I have a reason to win rather than the bloodthirsty brutes who hail from districts 1, 2 and 4. I hear you wondering, how? Although me and my family put enough food on the table and pay the bills I have secretly been signing up for tesserae since I was 14, today my name will be in that crystal bowl 42 times. The odds will not be in my favour, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I appear delusional I know, but let me ask you: If you knew you could save you father's life by winning a game, would you? Would you try? Now, it may seem as if I'm over estimating my abilities and I may be; but when I enter the arena I won't be unprepared.

I have a plan, a strategy of sorts that I think will be key in my survival; plus I am more than prepared to kill if I deem it necessary. I know, how would I be able to kill another sentient being? Simple, I am a hunter: for the 5 years since my father has been unable to provide, I have put the food on the table. Stalking prey through the thick forest that lines the eastern border of district 5; my footsteps muted, my senses scouring the underbrush for any sign of wildlife. I have a reputation in my district as the sweet girl, who cares for her sick father; People can never see what is right in front of them. They just see the facade I let them see: someone weak, vulnerable and sweet. In reality I could slit their throats in the blink of an eye. I am not sweet, weak or vulnerable; I am lethal, strong and brutally realistic in my viewing of the world. But I allow them to think what they like, it is all part of my plan; the plan that will commence today. Today is the day that will mark the beginning on my father's recovery, today is the day that marks the beginning of my plan; the beginning on my road to becoming a Hunger Games Victor: Today is reaping day.

'Autumn, Twila. Breakfast is ready, hurry before it gets cold' My mother's flute like voice floats up the stairs. I hear the thumping on the stairs, the indicator that Twila is racing in response to mother's summons: mention food and Twila will pop into existence, drawn like a bee to honey. I roll my eyes at my younger sister's enthusiasm, so young and innocent before I make my way downstairs to greet my family.

'Mom, what's up?' I note my mothers pinched forehead and how she is gnawing on her bottom lip; a sure sign that something is wrong. You see, I can read people like they are open books; every gesture, every expression tells you something and I can decipher it, which is how I know something is worrying my mother.

'It's, it's your father Autumn, his getting worse' Her voice broke, tears pooling in my eyes and my conviction flared into life; it had to be this year, I don't think father could wait another year for medical attention. I breathe a sigh of relief; if everything goes to plan I will be able to get him that attention he needs so much.

'Is there nothing we can do?' I say, cracking my knuckles and looking over to where Twila is eating with such enthusiasm I was fully prepare to run over there and perform the Heimlich if she began to choke.

'No, it's only a matter of time, until he-'

'Mom, do not speak like that. Papa is going nowhere, I won't let him' my voice was steely, there wasn't much time and I could feel a thrumming in my stomach as it clenched in anticipation. Any reservations, any doubts I had about entering that arena were gone; there was no choice now, I needed to win these Games.

'Autumn, there's nothing that we can do. We've done everything that we can' her voice is hushed and she glances over towards Twila periodically. We have always tried to shelter Twila from the severity of father's condition; it's simply too much for a young girl like her. I pick at the toasted flatbread and cheese mother had prepared and wolf it down at such a pace it could rival Twila's

' Mom, we'll talk about this later' I'm going to see Papa and then I'm meeting Claudia and Jordan, you know for the reapings' She nods, I always go to the reapings with my two friends, and since today could possibly be the last time I see them I cannot afford to break a tradition.

'Papa' my voice is but a whisper as I enter my parent's bedroom, the four walls that have trapped my father for years.

'Autumn' my father calls out in his gravelly voice, it rattles and breaks as he struggles for breath. It is such a contrast to how he used to sound: a booming voice that could be hears throughout the house, brimming with joy and a distinct sense of mischief. It is saddening to see this pale imitation of the man I once called 'Papa' but if my plan works, that man will be back; with his boisterous nature and the twinkle in his eye.

'How are you feeling?' I am genuinely concerned, the glassy quality to his eyes and the rattle of his breath tell me that it's true, his condition is truly deteriorating. This is why I must go into the games.

'Top of the world, Baby girl, top of the world' I laugh mirthlessly at his poor jibe, he is quite obviously not on top of the world yet here he is trying to play down his illness, to protect me as he always has. I tap my foot, he truly believes he can pull the wool over my eyes; I am 17 years of age, practically an adult; but to him I will always be his 'Baby Girl.

'Nice to know Papa, now I'm going to meet my friends. Goodbye' I turn to go, allowing my father to get his much needed rest; as I stand in the doorway I hear him call out in his feeble voice.

'See you later' I nod my head briskly and rush down the stairs to exit my house; how was I supposed to tell him he wouldn't see me later? How could I say it could be weeks before I see him again or the fact that the next time he sees me, I could be in a wooden box? I try to shake these melancholic thoughts from my head as I walk briskly down the cobbled streets towards Claudia's home.

I knock on the door of Claudia's home, the faded red paint standing out in sharp relief to the white bricks. Suddenly, the door swings open and there stands Claudia; I take note of the bruise blossoming on the underside of her jaw, a vivid purple.

'Claudy, what happened this time?' I raise my eyebrow. It seems that Claudia has gotten herself into yet another fight was it too much to ask that she remains out of trouble for one day. It sure seems so.

'It was that bitch Yelena, thinking she can talk about me. I mean, who is she? The useless, good for nothing...' I just let her rant; when Claudia got into full steam there was nothing or nobody that could stop her. Sure, she was loud, obnoxious and quick to let the fists fly but she was my best friend and I really wouldn't want to change her. Even if I did spend more than half of my time breaking apart fights. By the time her rant had reached its epic conclusion we were already at Jordan's. He was waiting for us, gesturing wildly at the battered watch on his wrist.

'Talk about being late girls' He smiles to show us that he is joking but his comment sets Claudia off, yet again.

'Oh, shut up. You don't know long it takes a girl to get ready; looking as good as we do. It doesn't happen by accident. Does it?' I nod my head, a smile blooming onto my full lips: there was nothing I found more amusing than seeing somebody squirm. Jordan was bouncing from foot to foot, his face becoming a glowing shade of puce.

'You both look phenomenal, seriously' he splutters out, understanding the need to calm Claudia. But I take his compliment graciously; I think my outfit is rather nice, and perfect for the first phase of my plan once it is put into action: The soft green dress makes my pale skin glow and my soft auburn tresses appear more vibrant and glossy; the leather belt that cinches at my waist draws attention to my narrows waist, making me appear more feminine and in my opinion, fragile. I have lined my eyes with a fine white powder to make my icy blue eyes appear wider and more child like and my plump lips have been coloured a bright scarlet.

As we continue on our way to the town square people nod at me, smiling. I hear their whispers: 'Such a sweet girl' 'Oh it's a terrible shame with her father being so ill'. I am so tempted to laugh, I never thought myself as a good actress but it seems I had under estimated myself. These fools really bought into the whole sweet little girl act I had been playing. I really don't think I belong here in district 5, seeing as nobody seems to possess a brain. I tune back into the conversation as Jordan seems to be finishing an anecdote which involved a peacekeeper and surprisingly a singing cat, I really worry about Jordan at times. We sign in and head towards our designated sectors, me and Claudia are discussing her favourite topic: boys, as the Mayor babbles on about the failed rebellion.

'So, supposedly Georgia is saying that Henri is the hottest boy. The slag, I mean yes he is Ok but have you seen the arms on Tristan lately? Humph, what I wouldn't do' I really would like to be able to trouble myself with such teenage trivia but I am the girl who is contemplating entering an arena with 23 other people, all of whom will try and make sure I don't leave said arena with a pulse. The time is almost upon me, I begin to tug at the hem of my dress and look around frantically; my face arranged into a perfect expression of terror; with my eyes wide, lips apart and turned down into a frown. I am the image of a girl terrified of being reaped, if only they knew. Georgiana Hertz slithers on the stage, her lime green hair teased into a bee hive and her yellow skin making her appears as if she is suffering from jaundice, these Capitolites and their ridiculous fashions never cease to amaze me. She seems to be taking her sweet time as she simpers to the audience, her dainty hand hovering over the paper slips housed in the crystal bowl. I will her to pick my name out; I am willing it to happen. She snatches one up and moves towards the microphone centre stage before simpering in her sickly sweet voice:

'Welcome, welcome district 5. The games this year promises to be one of the most exciting, so may the odds be ever in your favour. Now, for the lucky girl who will represent this glorious district is...'

Seriously, does this imbecile need to pause for dramatic effect; I am considering what will happen if my name isn't called. Do I volunteer? I can see my perfectly constructed plan falling to pieces before my very eyes. But it seems these worries were unnecessary.

'Autumn Thorn'

This is it, time to put the plan in action; I wail, my voice cracking as if to emphasize my pain and grief and without waiting I begin to scream as I push my way through the bodies of people gathered. Running for the forest lines, I hear the peacekeepers behind me shouting for me to stop, as if. I slow my pace though as I had been getting further and further ahead of the peacekeepers. Really? These men, who cannot catch a 17 year old girl, are those employed to enforce the law? I then collapse to the floor and begin to shout out, my voice capturing the tone of terror perfectly.

'No, no, this cannot be happening not me' the peacekeepers drag me to my feet and I am thrown over a mans shoulder and our procession is heading towards the stage; I hear it again, the whispers:' Oh the poor soul' 'won't last two minutes' I have to work hard to prevent the smirk gracing my lips, so far the plan is working perfectly. I am dropped unceremoniously onto the stage by the peacekeepers and I continue to cry, scream and plea with anyone willing to listen:

'No, please. It can't happen. I don't want to die. Please, somebody help me' My cries threaten to drown out Georgiana's voice as she readdresses the audience; I don't look for my family in the crowd, to see their shock at my antics. But as I look around, tears streaming down my face I cannot help but think what everybody will think when I am crowned Victor, when I reveal myself not as the coward who sobs fruitlessly on stage but as a ruthless, killing machine. I cover my face with my hands as this thought brings a smile to my face.

Goodbyes, the word seems so final; so I decide to not have these goodbyes at all. It will upset my friends and family but I cannot risk exposing my facade to anyone yet. It's not as if they'll never see me again, I am going to win these games; my actions appear selfish but I cannot help but think that if I saw my family and friends cry, mourn my loss before I'm dead my resolve will shatter. It has taken me 5 years to formulate this plan and I'll be damned before I let my sister's tears or my mothers words of comfort get in the way of my victory. In the way of me, Autumn Thorn, saving my father's life.

**Boom, there goes Miss. Autumn Thorn (although her name was meant to be auburn but I changed it by accident, SORRY) courtesy of the amazing AshBuggy :D who has another tribute in my motley bunch. So, your thoughts on Autumn? Love her? Hate her? Whatever it is, let me know. **

**Thanks xxx **


	12. These Healing Hands of Mine

**KAPOWWW! Okay then, we're off to District 5 now, revisiting Autumn Thorn and our newest tribute! ;) We're nearing the end of the reapings but I think I should give you a fair warning: We still have quite a while until the games actually begin… I want to develop the plot and give insight to each character before they all end up trying to kill one another…**

**Now thanks to:**

**Dinashadow for Galen Agretto**

**AND**

**Ash Buggy for Autumn Thorn **

**Galen Agretto, District 5.**

I apply the thick paste I had concocted from lavender and aloe vera, the roots of such plants are a valuable asset when treating minor burns; I then scantily apply witch hazel and elderflower to reduce the inflammation and eradicate any chance of infection. I apply a cold compress; it should soothe the pain and promote a quicker rate of healing. I the wrap the arm with a gauze bandage before lifting my eyes; Artie Volenz, the elderly man and my most frequent visitor seeing as he cannot seem to go a day without obtaining some form of injury.

'Artie, what have I told you? You need to be more careful, you're not as young as you once were. On day, some little bump will be the death of you' I take note that my husky voice has taken on the soothing quality it does whenever I'm in the presence of one of my, or my mother's, 'patients'. My mother is constantly reminding me that a good bedside manner is one of the most important parts of becoming a healer and seeing as she is the best of the profession here in District 5 I take heed of any advice she shares with me.

'Oh Galen, I'm only as old as I feel; and I feel as young as you. I'm clumsy but with you and your Mam here to patch me back up there is nothing to worry about is there?' I am very flattered that Artie seems to have so much confidence in mine and my mother's abilities; but we cannot work miracles, I'll just have to keep an eye on Mr. Volenz to make sure he doesn't do serious damage to himself any time soon.

'Well, thank you for the vote of confidence but I don't want to see you here again for a week. Now, remember to apply the burn salve twice a day: Once when you wake up, and then again just before bed. If you have any questions just pop right over and if it flares up make sure you pop in at your earliest convenience.' I just feel so at home when I'm working around medicine; there is an old saying that healers are born and not made, I agree with this statement whole heartedly. I didn't choose to become a healer at all, it just happened: I spent hours of my youth simply watching my mother as she would heal anyone's injuries, whether they were minor cuts or gruesome infections; I was amazed by how intricate her willowy fingers could move, the dexterity she possessed and then how the plants that grow in the nearby meadow have so many medicinal purposes. Becoming my mother's healing apprentice has been my greatest achievement to day, to have the opportunity to learn more in the arts of healing is an offer that one could not simply turn down however much it may annoy others.

'Oh, alright; if anything goes wrong I'll pop back' Artie has pulled on his ratty blue fleece and is shuffling out of the door; leaving me alone in the kitchen, however prominent me and mother are in regards to our healing practices we cannot afford to rent a space to work in. All of our healing activities take place in our own kitchen or if our patient is unable to come, we make house visits. I owe so much to my mother, and however cheesy the sentiment sounds: she has made me into the young man I am today. She has nurtured all of the traits that I am proud of: my observant nature, the ability to notice even the tiniest details is essential in a diagnosis and it extends to reading body language; you see a competent healer should be able to see when their patient is lying, if they aren't truthful about their symptoms it could lead to a misdiagnosis and if that was to happen it could lead to some dire consequences. In all honesty most of what I needed to excel in this profession has been instilled since I was a child: compassion, dedication to helping those in need and a meticulous approach to all that I do is just apart of me, my intuition just flickers when there is someone in need.

My moment of silent reflection is disturbed by the shrill chime of a bell, the mark that someone has arrived; I turn to find that Mariella Houston is walking into the kitchen with a gentle smile on her pretty features, there have been a lot of rumours that we are more than simply 'friends' as we claim; although she is a fine example of what anyone would look for in a young lady with her porcelain skin, ash blonde hair and large amber eyes but the nature of our relationship is platonic; it is true that we're inseparable but we are and only ever will be the best of friends.

'Ah! Mari, how're you today? And why do I owe the pleasure of your company?' I lower my voice, allowing it to escape as a husky rasp; although we're friends we do maintain a rapport which more often than not leads to a bit of harmless flirting. Mari starts to giggle and slaps me on the arm, rolling her eyes good naturedly.

'Well, how could I resist spending a moment in the presence of someone so, glorious…God like?' She quirks her eyebrow to show the joking nature of her response; the girl does know how to play along and I'm guessing that our flirtatious exchanges may be the reason that some of the townsfolk think we're romantically involved.

'Nice one, I particularly liked the 'God like', so how's Gord?' Although to some people it sounds strange, me enquiring after her dog's welfare; it's a private joke between us. Mari and I have only been friends for 3 years and the reason of that friendship is Gord, her little terrier went and got himself hit by a wagon and Mari brought him to me; desperate for me to try and save him. Luckily, he had only broken a bone and I was able to set and plaster it in almost no time but Mari was so grateful and we've been great friends since.

'As good as always since you fixed him up' Mari winked, and moved over to sit down opposite me, she looked around before turning back to me; her eyes playful.

'So what's a girl around here got to do to get a drink?' As charming as always, I just laughed as I went over to the iron kettle. In no time we were around the table, exchanging the banter that seems to come naturally in our friendship; she was filling me on the local teenage gossip: the loose canon that is Claudia Noon, the girl is quite likely insane; she's always caught up in some argument and then throwing her fists like there is no tomorrow. I laugh and roll my eyes in all the right places before the conversation is brought back onto me.

'So, Galen…I've been hearing that words been getting out about your spectacular healing skills. Bet you're proud, I sure am. Your mother was beaming when she heard everyone paying you compliments in the tavern.' I smile, it truly is nice to hear that people are grateful for the work that I do; but that doesn't erase the hurt that I've carried with me since I informed my father, Adrian Agretto, of my plans to become a professional healer. He allowed me to do it as first, like a hobby but he always thought I'd end up working in one of the power stations: real mans work, as he calls it. I once told Mari about father's opinions and her response was certainly entertaining: she told me to just ignore him, he's a Neanderthal and doesn't understand; you can always count on Mari to feel better.

I hear the bell chime yet again, my mother walks into the kitchen; she looks a lot like or so they say, with the difference being that she is a woman and I am a man, well soon to be. We both have almond shaped eyes, hers a warm chocolate brown and mine so grey they appear almost silver in colour; we both have smoky brown hair, which falls in gentle waves and mine reaches the nape of my neck. We both have an olive complexion and seem to be rather tall, standing at 5'11'' I am taller than most men here in 5; our district seems to turn out shorter males. She rushes over and gives me a hug, I am a bit shocked as my mother is usually quite reserved and isn't acclaimed for displays of affection; but I love my mother so I return her hug.

'I've just bumped into Artie, you've done great with the burn; I couldn't have actually done a better job myself, so I've brought you a little something' She holds out what she was holding: a garment bag and a bag full of books. I smile, we're not poor but to have so many gifts at once is such a rarity.

'Thank you Mom.'

Hours later and I'm on my way to the reaping, and although I detest arrogance I may be walking with a spring in my step; I am wearing my new clothes: A pastel blue shirt and smart black dress trousers; I look very good, however pretentious it may sound and it may sound stupid but wearing these new clothes I am infused with a new sense of confidence. I smile and wave at people I notice in the crowd, past patients of mine; in no time at all the reaping ceremony is underway. Although it sounds cliché, as a healer I have learnt how precious human life is and to see life wasted is something that appals me; these games are brutal and so crude, I can think of many other ways for the Capitol to remind us of their dominance without the need of seeing 23 children die annually. I tend to ignore what happens at the reapings, since I oppose the whole sentiment behind the games: the death, deceit and betrayal; but my attention is brought onto the proceedings when I hear the name of the female tribute.

'Autumn Thorn' From there all hell breaks loose, the girl fights her way through the crowd and is running away as fast as her legs can take her, screaming in anguish; the sight horrifies me this girl is completely helpless, she is petrified and guaranteed death, most likely in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. She is begging for people to help her but what are we to do? If anyone takes action to try and save her then they will die; however much it irks me, in our current political climate it is every person for themselves. Nobody will volunteer, we're District 5 but I feel a pang in my chest when I see someone so young and so full of life broken and sentenced to death. As she is dragged past, thrashing in the arms of 4 Peacekeepers I catch her eyes, streaming tears and I close my eyes to try and dispel the image of her, seeming so shattered. The poor girl is then thrown onto the stage and our escort, Georgiana Hertz, looks upon her disdainfully. I feel like telling this woman that she should shut up, how someone with green hair and blindingly yellow skin can look down on anyone, I'll never know; this Capitolite looks more like a citrus fruit than she does human.

Autumn Thorn, it just hits me then; her father was caught in an explosion at the power plant, although physically he recovered his other symptoms refused to alleviate despite my mother's most intense efforts: his hacking cough would refuse to go, as would the sickness and the erratic heartbeat. As a healer, it is hard to label someone a lost cause but the poor man is lucky to still be alive and this Autumn girl is his daughter; I haven't personally encountered the girl, we're the same age and I'm sure we've probably shared classes but she has always seemed to fade into the background but I've always been told she was such a sweet girl. This isn't what someone so sweet deserves: A death sentence. I'm so caught up in my whirring thoughts of injustice and the absurdity of the Hunger Games that I barely hear the name of the male tribute, it's like a whisper but it snaps me into reality for it's me, that Hertz lady has called my name.

'Galen Agretto' No, this cannot be happening; in all honesty I feel like mimicking Autumn's actions and trying to run but it wouldn't help me in anyway, this is a game and however I may despise it I've been drafted in to play and I'm determined to win or die trying. I take a deep breath and then stand as tall as I possibly can. I walk through the crowd, my face a mask of indifference; I will give neither the Capitol nor the Career tributes the pleasure of seeing my fear. I can do this, I repeat this to myself as a mantra; hoping to maintain some sense of decorum. And then it becomes a blur, the strain of trying to maintain this façade is taking its toll but thankfully the ceremony is reaching its conclusion and we're being lead to the Justice Building.

I'm standing in this room, decked out with the most luxurious décor; I cannot help but be a little angered at the Capitol and the ruling class here in District 5: splashing out on stupid frivolities like ornate clocks and velvet cushions when the same amount of money could afford so much medical merchandise: ointments that can clear burns in a matter of hours; tablets which are able to erase infections instantaneously. I shake my head at the stupidity of it all. My first visitor's crash through the door, my family are all wearing expressions of sorrow; it would be a lie for me to say I'm not a little dejected seeing that they all seem to be mourning already.

'Gay, try your hardest. No matter what.' My youngest sister, Ida flies into my arms; at only 4 she realises she may never see me again and I feel my earlier anger beginning to flare yet again: what kind of world is it when someone so young is capable of understanding something like the Hunger Games, what kind of world steals the bliss that is childhood innocence?

'I will Ida, you know I'm not going to go away without a fight' I can't bring myself to say 'die' because it isn't a death; not some natural ailment will extinguish my life force: it isn't death that awaits me, it is cold blooded murder. I open my arms further and my two other sisters rush into my arms; consumed with their grief they cannot formulate words, instead they cling to me with such ferocity that I find myself struggling to breathe. How can I lose? I need to be here for these three girls. How would Ida, Luisa and Alice survive without me? I have no doubts that my parents would put food on the table, and provide all the emotional support that three young girls would ever need; but I cannot help but think that they do need me, even if it is only to be the stereotypical big brother scaring away any boy who dares try to pursue any of my little cherubs. I am getting overly sentimental, is that some strange side effect of being reaped?

'Girls, I think you should leave, me and your father have some important things to discuss with your brother' my mother's voice is not harsh at all, being the consummate healer that she is though; her voice possesses a quiet authority that not many people are able to command. Somehow though, my mother is able to command such a quiet authority with ease and my sister's give me one final squeeze before departing; not before Alice, my quietist sister presses something into my hand and I press it into my pocket for later inspection. My sisters leave the room but not before giving me one final hug and telling me how much they love me, it gives me a newfound strength: a determination to win.

'So, what important things do we have to discuss?' It sound rude, but I know it must be something important; plus I am still a bit upset my sister's had to leave, I don't know when or even if I will ever see them again. My parents seem a little shocked by my blunt question but rearrange their features into encouraging smiles; even my father, who has done nothing but remind me how my career choice is not masculine in the sense and that I am nothing to be proud of. Mother rushes forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

'Time is running out Galen, Mari is still waiting to visit but I want you to know; as a healer you object as much to the loss of human life as myself but if you are to do the great things I know you can, you need to win. However unethical this sounds, how important are the lives of 23 people in comparison to the hundreds if people you can save in the future' as always my mother is able to address the one thing which has silently tormented me since I was reaped, how am I meant to kill someone, even if it is for my own survival. My father then steps forward, for once showing an emotion rather than disappointment; he places his hand on my shoulder.

'Son, I know I have never told you how much I love you, or how proud I am so I can't waste time crying that you probably won't ever return; so I offer you advice, my advice is that medicines can be used as poisons. You're a good man, but to win you've got to do whatever you can, attack while they sleep. You're a good lad it shouldn't be hard to get sponsors.' I'm shocked, I know that father has very rarely been proud of me, but he has given me valuable advice which I intend to act upon but it seems for once as if he does love me, I feel as if I'm on cloud nine but soon I'm dragged back to reality when I realise that my time is waning quickly. My parents leave with promises that they are to wait for me, and I am smiling as they leave: pumped for everything to be over and done with.

Mari bursts through the door, a determined glint in those green eyes of hers; she gives me a quick hug and then steps back. She is staring at me blankly as if she cannot comprehend what is happening, I understand her confusion; unlike many of those here in District 5 I have never had to sign up for tessarae unlike so many others: My name was in that reaping bowl less than some 12 year olds but it's happened and my major concern now is somehow surviving the arena.

'Gord says good luck and I know you haven't got much time but Galen I want you to at least try, we may be only best friends but I can't imagine life without coming to annoy you at least once a day' she wears a sad smile, but I chuckle at her words: best friends forever may sound girly but I would like to come home to spend each day being annoyed by my closest friend and the pointless small talk this entails. What is it about being reaped that makes you such a sentimental fool? I try to respond but words fail me, it hits me that I have to go and fight for my life; all these seemingly unimportant things seem much more of matter than usual when you consider that you're about to go without knowing you'll return.

'Galen, I've got to go now but remember no matter what: we're all proud and I think you stand a shot at winning. What would we all do without those healing hands of yours?' I smile at her poor choice of words, but her sentiment remains the same: she wants me to return and that is another thing which gives me a reason to win. Mari leaves soon after, but one thing that seems to haunt me was when she talked about my so called 'healing hands', it's true that my hands: smooth and dextrous are the hands of someone who has spent hours trying to repair. These are not the hands of a killer but I must say I need to return home so, if I am to win these must become the hands of a killer. But I can't help but think: how do your turn healing hands into the hands of a killer?

**Autumn Thorn, District 5.**

Well, although I'm disheartened that I wasted my chance of saying goodbye I am proud in one sense: although I may die, my plan is working perfectly so far and I am one step closer to winning and getting that medicine for my father, my 'Papa'. I am a little annoyed that everything was so quick to believe the 'weak and pathetic' façade I've assumed; is that what people really expect of me? Well, they'll be eating their words when I return as the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Game; On the other hand, I should be glad they believe my little lie: it shows that my acting skills have been perfect in creating this person. I am slumped and crying as I'm escorted to the train, the Peacekeepers muttering as to how pathetic I am and how I'm destined to become 'yet another bloodbath'. This is going to be easy; everyone will be embarrassed when they see that I am a more proficient at killing another being: It is merely a situation I will have to adapt to, and adapt I shall. How dumb will everyone feel when they realise I have fooled the nation; I am stumped as to how nobody has thought of playing the 'weakling', maybe its because nobody realises that to win some battles you must let others believe they are the Victors.

I am pushed, rather forcefully onto the train, but it doesn't concern me; I slump into compartment, collapsing onto a leather settee and becoming 'consumed with the imminence of my immediate death'; I can tell I'll become annoyed with playing the cry baby but I'm willing to do it if it results in my father's survival. I am there for what seems like hours and then some entity collapses onto the ground, I peek quickly to see who it is: Jasten Reckenberg, Victor of the 31st Hunger Games: not talented in combat or survival. This man won simply by luck, he had no strategy at all and hence I have nothing to learn from the man; I leave him in his drunken stupor, now lying with a blank expression and shivering in fear: this will portray the hopelessness they think I am thinking, or at least I hope that's what they think.

Minutes later, another figure slides into the room; Galen Agretto, my district partner. 17, looks muscular and knowledge of plants; could be trained in toxicology, don't trust anything he offers me in case it's poisoned. Well I would mark it as a threat but as I've always said, I'm talented at reading people: his eyes shine with innocence, a kindness which is not the mark of a murderer. He'll die, even if it wasn't for my plight to win; he is essentially too good of a person: but when I think of him dying it feels hard to describe but I feel as if I'm guilty of some cardinal sin, such feelings must be forgotten if I'm to win this thing. He takes sight of our drunken mentor and rushes to his side; babbling to himself about water and paracetomol whatever that may be. I sniffle quietly, no to draw attention to myself but just to maintain character: he quickly turns to me, surveying me with those alluring silver eyes; oh not alluring, it's just the depth of emotion is rather enrapturing. He moves forward and sits beside me, wrapping one of his muscled arms around my shoulder; a gesture meant to suggest comfort and warmth but it feels genuine with him, not as if it is just because what he thinks is the right thing to do in his current circumstance.

'Don't worry Autumn, I promise I'll try to help you; I think it'll be nice if between us we bring a Victor back to District 5, it'll be much more beneficial to 5 as a whole if there is a mentor who can stay sober long enough to bestow his 'wisdom''. I am slightly unnerved by his exceptional acting ability: it must be a lie; there are no people so selfless, well not any more. He smiles at me, I force my mouth into a nervous smile; to show that his words have affected me; it'll flatter his ego and make him more prone to manipulation; but even the thought of manipulating this boy feels wrong, it would be a much easier experience if I had a malevolent district partner.

'Y-you do-don't need to w-worry, I would never want to h-hold you back' I want to appear selfless, weak but not necessary unsociable; I know the importance of formulating alliances, at some point I may need to rely on Galen for something which may appear trivial but could very well save my life. We share a small smile, teary-eyed on my behalf.

'Autumn, I'll help you: I know you're a sweet girl so we're gonna just have to work together' He smiles at me, and I genuinely smile back. He may believe the lies I want people to believe, about my sweetness and such; but he is in an incredibly selfless boy and it repulses me that he was put into the Games the same years as I, I know that he is a healer and the world cannot afford to lose someone so pure of heart.

The scariest thing is that by hearing his husky laugh, seeing his sweet smile; I don't feel like I'm acting at all when I pretend to be the breakable one, in some alternate reality I could be the porcelain doll I so strongly resemble and he could be the Prince Charming who swoops in to save the damsel in distress. These are alien feelings, to bring factors such as attraction and such into my predicament will mess my plan up, and I need to win; this situation is one in which I do not want to adapt to, not one I genuinely think would be beneficial to my cause. I'm facing the Hunger Games, where only one person emerges as Victor; I cannot afford to imagine a Happily Ever After with Galen, it is impossible. I cannot face this now, I need time to think and re-evaluate my position: Autumn Thorn must revise her strategy, everything could be about to change.

'S-sorry, I th-think that is s-so nice but right n-now I need time to s-sit and think' I leave without directly answering any unspoken questions, I don't know how things will turn out but Galen could be useful so I will leave. I stand to leave, not before noting that neither the Escort or the female mentor have arrived; I'll face them tomorrow, right now I need space because I'm very confused. Galen Agretto has come and thrown a wrench into my finely tuned plan. I hear a sigh escape Galen's broad lips as I leave the compartment.

**This is a quickly written chapter; I hope ya'll love Galen as much as I do. I am trying to get through the reapings as quickly as possible so we can see all of the tributes communicating as well as seeing what happens regarding the rebellion plot.**

**Review and let me know your thoughts! Xxx**


	13. To Hold Onto Ones Belief

**Wow, we're getting through the reapings quicker now; Yes, they go on for ages but I want you to get a real feel for each of the tributes and become accustomed to their mentors etc. :D If it bothers you… Sorry!**

**Well, this will be the first part… :D**

**So the Thanks for making our fabulous tributes go to:**

**Amo-scribere for Dariela 'Dari' Malasky**

**Freakzoid 123 for Iian Trescott**

**Iian Trescott, District 6.**

I resent this day every year, I may not be the worlds biggest 'people person' but that doesn't make me heartless; This is reaping day, a fitting title seeing as it alludes to the archaic legend of the Grim Reaper; some being sent to escort people to their deaths. That is what our district's escort truly is: a glorified Grim Reaper and it is almost certain that the two tributes of District 6 perish in the early stages of the Hunger Games. So yeah, this escort literally comes every year to 'escort' two helpless children to the Capitol and consequently their death.

I suppose a reason for my self inflicted isolation is that at any point my friends could be taken and then brutally murdered, solely for the entertainment of Panem's government and the other Capitol citizens. If I said it repulsed me I wouldn't be lying, but I also feel that the government does need some aspect of control over the districts, I just wish said 'aspect' wasn't so brutal. There must be some other way of enforcing control because in the end what does killing 23 young children achieve? Reduced population, grief?

Technically the Hunger Games do fulfil their purpose: the fear that grips the populace of Panem ensures that there is no plan of rebellion; thanks to the oppressive hand with which the Capitol rules we are guaranteed that the brief period of rebellion called the 'Dark Days' will never return; they guarantee that hope will never be allowed to blossom throughout Panem.

I turn towards a sound I hear; It is early morning so I doubt that anyone is walking throughout the streets, but then again it is reaping day and so many people have to wake early. For the people of the Capitol they can afford a 'day off', the same cannot be said for those of us in District 6. We must wake and go to our tedious work to ensure that all of the days work is finished in preparation for the reaping ceremony. The sound seems to be coming closer and now I am able to distinguish the sound: tears. I turn and jog down a side street; tears are all too familiar and I don't want to face them, hence the whole 'lone wolf' façade I maintain.

I am not heartless, I am simply aware that by getting close to people I am enabling them or the Capitol to hurt me; I do care for people, and would willingly lay down my life for those I do care for. Its just the people I do care for are in and far between to come by. I drag my feet along the pavement, rejoicing in the silence; they say you are alone in the world and I agree with that philosophy for in the end, you face whatever is coming alone. The thought does depress me but it is true, I stare into the sky; the sun is beginning to rise and conventionally it is beautiful; but utterly deceptive: the dawn of a new day promises hope and new life, when in reality it is just signalling a new day which brings death and a reminder that another day is dawning of people living beneath the tyranny of the Capitol: How ironic is it that today is the day truly bringing death and despair.

Although I am trying to avoid it, I'll have to go home soon; I'd left hours earlier to escape the tension that seems omnipresent within my home. The cause is that my younger sister Marilyn was asking for my mother's whereabouts and the thing is I am unable to answer that question; she could be dead, she could be living just around the corner.

When I was 8 years of age she disappeared, I went to bed one night and when I awoke she had gone. I asked my father what had happened and he remained silent. I've asked that same question on an almost daily basis and it still remains unanswered; I love my father but we have come to loggerheads a plethora of times on the topic of my mother, and now it seems my curiosity has passed onto Marilyn.

I arrive at the end of my street, sill reluctant to go home; to face the problems, I want to escape it all, I want to be free and to do as I please but that wish is one that will never come to fruition.

'Well where were you this morning Mister Trescott?' I turn to the voice, its Tate; the only 'friend' I have although our relationship is one of convenience; we both like to escape the mundane reality which is our lives in District 6 and if we weren't trapped beneath the Capitol, she would be the girl who won my heart with her laidback attitude and sharp wit; although she is also a beauty with her silver blonde hair, full lips and cerulean blue eyes.

'Out, and why were you looking for me?' She smiles at what she would call a 'smart ass come back' and rolls here eyes at my attitude, she realises that my isolation is a protective mechanism.

'Because I wanted to know if you wanted to grab some lunch? I know you don't really wanna go home so I thought I'd step in and save you. Seeing you're the damsel in distress and all that' she winks at me but I hold back my laugh; I need to keep her at arms distance, but she has a knack for getting under my skin.

'I don't feel like it. I have chores and other things to attend to' In all honesty, my name is in that bowl quite a few times and there is a good chance that I'll be picked, if I were to go with Tate I would be able to avoid going home. But if I didn't and my name was drawn at the reaping, I may never see my family ever again.

'Oh, well I'll see you afterwards. Unless you decide to go wandering off again.' She looks dejected but quickly covers it with a smile and disappearing into the adjacent street. I nod and then walk over to my house, realising this may be one of the last times I pass through the threshold of the place that has been my home for the last 16 years.

**Dariela 'Dari' Malasky, District 6.**

'Dariela Malasky' that's my name, as in I've just been chosen to enter the Hunger Games. No, this cannot be happening; it's simply an auditory hallucination, there is no conceivable way that our districts escort, Ramona Sorreson just called my name. I look up towards the stage and I see her with her bone white skin and candyfloss pink hair worn in a side braid that reaches her hip; It really is happening, I am being called to my certain death and there is absolutely nothing that I can do.

People in the crowd are beginning to turn to look at me but I cannot move, my limbs feel incredibly heavy and I feel the tears that threaten to spill over; I cannot move but I sure won't cry. God has chosen this fate for me, sacrificed me in order to save another's life but this doesn't scare me; my path has been laid for me and I will not turn from it, I will not go against the wishes of Our Lord.

This epiphany infuses me with strength and I move towards the stage, every step is a step closer to death but I no longer fear it; I embrace the wishes of God and in no time I am standing upon the stage. I am now resigned to my fate but I am shaking, however much I am prepared for death I am unable to suppress the chemical reactions associated with gut wrenching fear; the raised heart rate, the rush of adrenaline into my bloodstream. I close my eyes and take deep breaths in a vain attempt to calm myself, but my fear spikes again when I hear Ramona move back towards the microphone, ready to declare the other person unfortunate enough to join me on my journey into the afterlife, into the warm embrace of Our Lord.

'Iian Trescott' a boy emerges from the section designated for 16 year olds and however childish it sounds he is scary; I'd say he was at least 6' and would easily dwarf my frail figure of 4'7''. He has muscle too and sun kissed skin, with shaggy brown hair that fall into his eyes. His eyes are what scare me the most, so dark they appear black and more frighteningly they are dark tunnels, hiding secrets and an insight into his very soul. Just from the fleeting look into his eyes tell me everything I need to know: this boy is alone in the world but there is something in his eyes, a determination of sorts; to return home and the willingness to kill in order to do so.

'Happy Hunger Games, May the Odds be Ever in Your Favour. And wish your tributes the best of luck' Ramona Sorrenson wraps up the whole ceremony and at that point we shake hands, my tiny hand engulfed in his broad hands; potentially the hands which could be responsible for extinguishing my life. I repeat the Lord's Prayer in my head to try and maintain some sense of composure and stare into his eyes but he is staring avidly at the ground, determined not to look into my eyes.

The population of the crowd begins to thin and I am directed towards the Justice Building, where I will say my final goodbyes to my loved ones; from there my fate is in the hands of God. I find myself in a spacious room, littered with a number of luxurious items one would never find anywhere in District 6 but they don't appeal to me; these objects are symbols of our rulers gluttony, one of the seven deadly sins. I am content with what I've had, I survive and that's all that matters; the question from here is how long I have left to survive?

My Aunt Mikaylia rushes into the room, although she has been my mother for as long as I can remember; feeding me, tutoring me and nurturing my faith in God. Tears are falling down her face, her lips are pinched and her warm brown eyes are red and swollen. It is devastating; I do not want her to cry, my fate may be gruesome but there is still so much adversity plaguing Panem, it would be in her best interest to concentrate her efforts on helping those in need.

'All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness' My words are to tell her that God has put me in this position and not to worry for we have no control over it now, and that God gave her a purpose too: to heal the world and that she shouldn't mourn me.

'This shouldn't be happening Dari, you are such a sweet girl; these games aren't for you. However are you meant to win?' Her voice is quivering with fear, she knows I will die and there is nothing I can do; there is nothing I will do. I respect human life too much to ever harm another of God's creation; to kill someone is out of the question.

'Human beings are made in God's own image' I see the recognition flicker in her gaze; and then acceptance, she knows I will not negotiate my moral principals in order to survive. I will die, I accept that but I will die knowing I never compromised my beliefs. I will die as myself, not as some puppet of the Capitol. Aunt Mikaylia pulls me into her warm embrace; she recites the Lords Prayer to me and then pulls something from around her neck and hands it to me. It is her crucifix, and she has given it to me as my token; tears slide down my face and I am unable to express the overwhelming sense of gratitude that saturates my being, but my Aunt understands.

'Stand for what you believe in my Darling Dari, there is nothing more that anybody can expect from you. May the Lord stand with you now. I am so proud and I cannot tell you how much I love you; the daughter I was never blessed with' at that point the peacekeepers arrive to escort my Aunt away. It appears my designated time has passed, I have no more visitors; my only ever friend Aria was killed in the 59th Hunger Games but soon I will join her in Our Lord's Paradise.

Before I am escorted to the Capitol train I catch my reflection in a pane of glass. What I see sends shivers down my spine; my pale skin tinged with mud and dried blood, my gentle brown eyes narrowed in a fierce leer and my lips curled into an animalistic snarl: Is this what the Capitol expects of me? To become a monster which haunts my nightmares? No, I will not become this monster before me. My name is Dariela Malsky and I will die pure and innocent, I will die myself and I will die knowing I never questioned my beliefs.

**Okay, two uploads in one night. It's 4.45 am here in Britain :'( and I couldn't sleep so here you go… The second part should be up soon!**

**REVIEW! xx**


	14. To Hold Onto Ones Beliefs PART 2

**Hellooooo, so here is the conclusion of the District 6 Reapings; hope you're loving these tributes. Quick question though: Where would we like to go next? I'm thinking of finishing a District I've already begun but I would love some suggestions.**

**Oh and I haven't thanked you all for the kind reviews; as for the anonymous 'B' I am well aware that in canon Enobaria won the 62nd Games, but in my story she won the 61st. If my derivation from canon irks anybody, I sincerely apologise but I am not going to change it!**

**That's all for now… **

**Iian Trescott, District 6.**

I am led from the Justice Building to the train that will be taking me to the Capitol, and although I rarely indulge in the luxury that is hope I like to think that it is also the train that will be bringing me home as the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games. My eyes are stinging with tears I refuse to shed; I will not give anybody the satisfaction of seeing me break down. The hour spent in that damn room is the worst hour I have ever spent in my life; blocking myself from the world didn't make it any easier as I hoped. It was still awful: Marilyn's distraught cries knowing she could lose her big brother, father's anguish knowing that he could lose his son as easily as his wife had left and then Tate's tearful goodbye.

I wasn't even aware Tate knew how to cry, she was always strong and sarcastic but she clung to me as if her life depended on it while declaring her love for me; in that moment I realised I needed to win. Not necessarily for myself but for every single person who'd mourn my loss, whose lives would irrevocably change if I were to die; no matter how few people that is.

Imagining me as the Victor is impossible, to live in Victor's Village seems like something I could never achieve, but I will. If I come back I have promised to 'change my ways' I cannot hide from the world as I once thought. Being a loner doesn't help, the problems are still there; you cannot run from them and you cannot hide, but if you face these problems surrounded by those you love they don't seem half as bad. The question I now face is how do I stand a chance at winning? District 6 is but a smudge on the map of Panem, we're not renowned for creating Victors; we simply create automobiles for use in the Capitol, forgotten and in terms of the Hunger Games: Useless. All the advice given to me in that room had the same sentiment: If I am to win, I'm going to need a strong set of allies; being the 'lone wolf' I am within the confines of District 6 is simply an act which guarantees my certain death.

I board the train and the first thing I see is my district partner sitting in a chair and looking out at the pandemonium on the platform; Capitol reporters are here with their state of the art cameras. I actually take the time to look at her since I was too overwhelmed at the reaping to do so; she seems tiny, with pale skin and hair the colour of chocolate. Although a part of me wishes to comfort her, I simply cannot afford to do it; it's a weakness and I've been playing the game since my name was called, and I will not be showing weakness around my potential enemy.

One thing that struck me however was her eyes as she stood on stage; they were still as pure and innocent as most 13 year olds but there was something shining in those brown doe like eyes of hers: I could say resignation, but it seemed a lot more to me; almost a defiance or a grim determination and so I'm not entirely sure if she's as weak as she seems. Logically, she should have broken down in tears knowing she is about to face her certain death; at 13 shouldn't she be petrified that she faces almost certain death. Younger tributes rarely win, and the only justification for such a demeanour is that she is hiding a talent of sorts or she simply has a suicide wish. Maybe she could become an ally; I move towards the table where she is sat and take a seat opposite her.

We sit in silence, she turns to look at me; her eyes bore into me, I stare back and in that moment something passes between us. A wordless communication of sorts, we'll speak later. My internal ramblings however are cut short when we hear a crash resound through the train compartment; our mentors have stumbled into the room and any determination I had earlier, any hope of escaping with my life has vanished: Morphlings, our mentors are drug abusers; you can see it in their gaunt faces, their blank stare, and their emaciated frames. They frolic around, their movements slow and strange; their eyes appear to be drawn to anything shiny like a magpie.

'God help them' Dariela, or that's what I believe her name to be, whispers grasping at a silver chain at her neck. I don't really agree with her and I can imagine what Tate's smart ass reply would be: 'God help them? Are you kidding me? More like God help us' I smile at this but its wiped from my face when I realise that what Tate would have said is right; How are we expected to survive in the arena when our lifelines are two morphlings. The answer to that question is we can't, me and Dariela are doomed to death. Without a functioning mentor we can kiss goodbye to any hope of surviving; who will give us the advice? Prepare our training strategy? Get sponsors? I turn to look back at Dariela and I can see the desperation in her gaze; the need for a miracle to happen, and that's just to survive the bloodbath. Sometimes though, miracles do happen.

**Ramona Sorreson, District 6 Escort**

I enter the compartment, my stilettos creating a monotonous beat on the linoleum floor thanks to my brisk gait; Oh and what a sight I see? Two blithering idiots rolling on the floor like children, it is beyond my understanding as to how two such pathetic creatures could ever become Victors of the Hunger Games. I play with my pale pink hair as I stare down at these poor excuses for human beings, trapped in their addiction. Morphling is such a vile substance; it takes away every part of your character and makes you an empty shell. What would possess someone to do such a thing to themselves? This is not what the Capitol expects from their Victors: they should be strong, proud; they should be like Platinum Herzesky or Brutus Eldron; well whatever will I do with these two?

I trail my amethyst coloured eyes over to the two tributes and the sight is almost heartbreaking; they truly have no hope whatsoever, I can see it in their posture: slumped and in their downcast eyes. The boy is large, with the right mentoring he'd stand a chance; and the girl, she is tiny but she left an impression on me by the way she walked onto stage with such grace and decorum makes me think that with her there is more than meets my keen eyes.

This whole situation will simply not do, Ramona Sorrenson is a pedigree Capitolite, it is in my blood to get what I want and to never fail at my endeavours and seeing these failed mentors has given me inspiration. For too long District 6 has faded into the background, not too poor, not really noticed in any sense; And being their escort I am tainted with the same reputation, but I will not fade into the background.

The mentors may be complete invalids, although that word doesn't seem strong enough to demonstrate their total incompetence, but I am not; no longer will I be a laughing stock to my fellow escorts and the citizens of the Capitol. I will fight tooth and claw, although perfectly manicured nails would make a fine substitute in this phrase, to make sure that the tributes of my district will leave a mark on the world, make an impression within the Hunger Games. And by association so will I. I look towards the tributes and give them my most winning smile.

'Don't you two worry, I'll be making a few phone calls and I'll be back as soon as humanly possible, even faster I bet'

**Dariela Malasky, District 6.**

Our escort has just left and our mentors seem to be engrossed with the patterns on the linoleum floor; I turn to look at Iian and all I can see is a young man who is lost, the lamb who has lost his way and lost his hope; It dawns on me then that maybe I was placed in this situation to help lead the lost lamb to victory. I do not like the utter despair he is radiating, but given that our mentors are lost in their drug addiction I can think of no words to say which will change his attitude; In one respect we're kindred spirits, in this one moment we are well aware that a most likely horrific fate awaits us and we're unable to do anything about it. I open my mouth to speak but before I can summon any words, Ramona has burst into the room:

'Don't you two worry, I'm in the process of having these morons declared unfit for their roles of mentor; with luck, you'll have a competent mentor by morning. Now I want you two to just relax for the rest of day, tomorrow morning you'll be meeting your mentor and I want you to be up early for a strategy meeting. Pip, pip'

I am simply flabbergasted, this woman doesn't know us from Adam and Eve and yet she has gone above her duty to give us a chance, to ingrain us with a little bit of hope; This woman is a saviour sent by our Lord, I can feel it welling within me: A feeling which can only be described as having faith in oneself. I turn to Iian and smile, reflected in his eyes are hope and self belief.

'Thank you Ramona, you have done us a great deed and I'm sure you will be repaid'

'T-thank you, a lot' Iian isn't the most eloquent but the sincerity in his tone is unquestionable; he has been sent a gift from God and his gratitude is overwhelming. I think I may be a gift to him too; I do not like the concept of the Hunger Games, the loss of innocence and I take a solemn oath now that I will not endanger the life of another sentient being; it is truly immoral and I will remain weaponless throughout my time in the arena but that doesn't mean I cannot aid Iian. I can learn about plants and survival skills, I can become an asset; we can become a partnership, and maybe he can come home.

I feel confidence warming my chest and giving me hope; I do not feel ready for these games, for my mission to give my life in order to save Iian's but the truth is: When will I ever be ready? So, however grim this may sound; I, Dariel Malasky say let the games begin. I turn to Iian and he has his eyebrow raised.

'Iian, have you ever heard the ancient saying that two heads are better than one?' He smiles at my comment and nods his head; It is my turn now to raise my eyebrow and prompt his response.

'I have, and I think that in this case it may actually be mutually beneficial'

'So you're asking to be my ally?' He doesn't respond he just nods his head and extends his hand; unlike the handshake at the reaping this handshake has significance: A promise that we will do whatever we must to survive and then ensure that Iian returns home; we will not lie down and accept the grizzly fate ascribed to us by another. Iian will go into this fighting and I'll be right beside him, helping in whatever way I can. Iian stands to leave now that we've reached this conclusion.

'Iian, wait…' He turns from where he now stands and I rush over and hug him, although we have our alliance he needs faith; and as his guardian angel of sorts it is my task to give him that gift.

'Do not lose heart or become discouraged as we have the _Hope_ of Jesus Christ and eternal life to carry us through' He smiles at my words and returns the hug. A beautiful friendship is blossoming and I have all the faith in the world it will reach a happy ending; Iian will come home, if it is the last thing I do.

**AWWWWW Dariela! She's too sweet, and Iian has someone who'll take a bullet for him. I hope you like these two; Oh and who's this mentor eh? Have to wait until we're in the Capitol to find out….**

**REVIEW! Or I'll, well I won't do anything… :| **


	15. A Songbirds New Tune

**Hey. So I know I was going to go to a new District but I was thinking that I want to go back to the Capitol; this time to meet another member of the illustrious Snow family! I love my new character, Miss Rosalinde Snow…but let me know your thoughts. This is an important chapter though regarding things destined for this story's future :) **

**So on with the show…**

**Rosalinde Snow, Capitol Citizen.**

My name is Rosalinde Snow, the daughter of Coriolanus Snow; beloved by the Capitol, envied by every woman and desired by every man. In some respects, I have the 'perfect' life: I have a wardrobe bursting with the finest clothes; I have anything I could ever want for at my finger tips; but to me this isn't my definition of perfect at all. I am not all happy; I am nothing but a trapped songbird with the glittering Capitol being my cage, gilded with precious stones but a cage nonetheless and my song is to spout my father's twisted ideologies. But I cannot be the pleasant, simpering daughter of Panem's President; because I don't believe a single word that slips from between his grotesquely enhanced lips, a single idea that forms in his sickened mind. I cannot afford to continue living in a world which sanctions something like the Hunger Games; I don't buy into the bullshit that they are the: 'light that prevents the return of the Dark Days.'

You see I have grown wise as to my father's malevolent ways, he doesn't even see me as his child; I was not born out of love or even genuine desire to father a child. I was born as a pawn in his political game, a token which shows him in a positive light for his adoring subjects throughout the Capitol. Without me my father was simply President of Panem, but since my birth he became not only President but also a loving, family man: What a joke! I am a living, breathing doll capable of following his orders; for that it what brings me here today, why my 5 inch stilettos grace the marble flooring which acts a platform to which trains arrive here in the Capitol; to welcome the tributes of the 62nd Hunger Games and to maintain the 'presidential presence'. I think it's simply detestable; these children have families, they could be brothers; sisters; sons; daughters and they are forced into a brutal game where prize is their life but in order to win 23 others must fall, it makes my skin crawl: this testament to the Neanderthal like tendencies which plague even the most modern models of humanity.

I look down at my beautiful daughter; the one person who keeps me sane in an insane world, the reason I'm entering a battle which will most likely be more bloody than any Hunger Games my father's most loyal Gamemaker's could ever create. A battle fought in the streets, behind closed doors; a battle of the mind alongside raw, physical strength. A battle for hope, for freedom and for a better future. Having a child, and more importantly loving that child really changes your perspective of the world; the rose coloured spectacles disappear and you see the true state of the world, a mirror is thrown up for you to see every flaw, every bit of danger. I look at my beloved daughter, Blossom and I despair as I see a shadow growing over her; the shadow which says she is growing up in a sordid world where she will never be able to make her own choices and this is frighteningly true.

Like myself, my daughter is being forced into a life that will benefit my father, she has had the role of 'Panem's Angel' forced onto her since her birth, literally. Against my greatest wishes my daughter at only 3 years of age has undergone an alarming number of cosmetic alterations which are fashionable throughout the Capitol. Her once blonde hair that glistened the colour of honey, like my own, has been bleached a startling shade of platinum white much like my father's; each strand altered genetically so the proteins maintain the garish colour. Full sized angel wings have been surgically attached to her shoulder blades; each nail has been replaced with diamond fittings, every tooth bleached to give her a dazzling white smile and then glitter permanently etched into her eyelids. This girl hardly looks like the baby I gave birth to, none of it was her choice and it is all just disturbing. This is why I am fighting; for a brighter future for Blossom, a future in a world where she chooses her own destiny.

Blossom, being only 3 years of age is more than happy to be the 'Angel' that everyone expects: to be the loving granddaughter, to smile at the camera's, to tell anyone who'll listen about how she is 'Granddaddy's little princess' and about all the nice things that twisted man does for her, for me, for us. But soon it will all change; he will condition her into becoming one of the mindless drones who live here in the Capitol, stealing her individuality; squishing her creativity and encouraging her to voice his unjust and bigoted beliefs. He will try and transform her into a puppet, and all I say to that is: 'Over my dead body'. My father tried something similar with me, to try and crush my personality; try and make me a robot with a pulse, ready to act on his every whim but it didn't work. For what I lack in having not inherited my father's brutal nature, his warped ideologies; he has handed me every weapon I'll need in my pursuit of freedom. I have him to thank for my vast intelligence, my ability to manipulate even the strongest of characters and my understanding of the political web of deceit and betrayal which constitutes the powers that be here in the Capitol. He made me acknowledge the importance of having the right people to stand beside you, the right people to exploit and the right people to have in high places; he has made me see that for any of my plans to come to fruition, I need to have certain people alongside me. People with distinct political clout within the districts: The mentors themselves, the survivors of my father's sick games.

'Mama, when people coming today?' My daughter's tinkling voice brings me back to reality, to see the crowds that have gathered to see the lambs brought forward for slaughter; cheering like deranged vultures stalking their prey. I curl my lip in disgust at their primitive behaviour; people like this are the supposed rulers of society. In her pink dress, made from layers of chiffon she seems excited, as if she is being pulled into the waves of excitement radiating from the people gathered; my daughter will never become a vulture like these drones.

'Blossom, they'll be here soon enough; remember it's a long journey for them, and don't get too excitable. Now Mommy has to go and talk to some people when the trains arrive so you'll be staying here with Artaud.' My daughter nods her head in understanding, trying to appear relaxed but I can still sense her excitement and I turn to my avox, Artaud is the most loyal follower of mine regarding my vision for a better future and what he lacks in his inability to speak; he more than makes up for in cooking up schemes and listening to others conversations. He nods in understanding, he wrote me a list of all the mentors I should try and contact: Sheen, Mags, Beetee, Mags, Lordaina, Blight, Cecelia, Woof, Pepper, Austin, Chaff, Seeder and Haymitch. Then I'm having him keep an eye open regarding people within the Capitol who may be willing to help; so far I have established contact with a junior Gamemaker by the name of Plutarch.

Blossom turns to Artaud and starts blabbing away as the first of today's arrivals rolls in; the sleek and aerodynamically streamed silver trains rolls into the platform; I move forwards as do the vultures, preparing to circle their prey most likely but unlike them I face no resistance when I approach. Rather than stopping me, the Peacekeepers who are meant to prevent Capitol citizens from trying to get near the trains holding the tributes forge me a pathway; respectfully saluting me as I pass them. Thanks Dad, you make my job so much easier.

I turn and wave at those behind me, smiling lazily as the cameras flash as they do wherever I go. I can imagine the headlines now: 'President's Daughter Meets Tributes: Capitol Charity at it's Best!' what a joke, if only they knew that the following hours will result in headlines such as 'Snow Dethroned: Power Changes Hands'. For that is what must happen; it may be appalling for me as his daughter to be plotting his downfall, but I have my own daughter's future to worry about; if we lived in the District's she would one day face being reaped and that is what has forced me into action. Power has gone to father's head, no longer is he concerned with the welfare of Panem and its residents. All he wants is to accumulate more power and strengthen his tyrannical grip over everyone: stealing their freedom.

At my father's hands Panem has become stuck in a rut, trapped in a stupor; but the time has come for Panem to move forwards once more, the time for change is upon us but for such things to happen: Panem as we know it must cease to exist. For Panem to ever change we must await the return of the 'Dark Days' and for anarchy to rule as we enter a state of rebellion; I know that it is a great risk but any form of self preservation I once held has vanished. I must be among those willing to pave a path that leads to a better life for my daughter and all of the future generations; and if I must kill or be killed in such a pursuit, so be it.

**Whhooooooo… Another chapter down, so now let me know you thoughts and remember to keep submitting to myself and AvenRose! Oh, once all the districts have been introduced people can vote for their favourite characters: if someone is a favourite with the readers, well I can only assume that they would be favourites amongst the Capitol: they would get sponsored wouldn't they? ;)**

**Review Time!**

**Loves xxxx**


	16. The Powerless Spitfire

**Because I love you beautiful readers so so much, I give you another chapter. Another tribute gets thrown into the mix. It is another girl, since literally everyone submits female tributes; tut, I want some male tributes. So I'll be doing 6 female reapings, then 6 male reapings and then the district partners will have the train rides, meeting mentors etc. But don't worry, they will more than likely think about there reapings! I'd love to see some more reviews peoples! :D xxx**

**Seraphine 'Sera' Connolly, District 7**

The bastard Capitol: ruining everyone's lives. Today is the day they come and steal two kids and then throw them to their bloody deaths. I am running through the woods, the trunks of trees whizzing past as I try to vent my frustration into something other than storming the stage later today and kicking the bloody district escort in her bloody face, wiping that stupid smirk right off of it. Bastards. Now, I don't want people thinking I'm mentally unhinged because I'm not, I'm just angry and I bloody well have a right to angry, especially at the Capitol. The bastards, they stormed in and completely tore my life apart.

I stop there in the woods, hoping that standing here in nature will somehow calm me. It doesn't, it makes thing ten times worse; I'm stuck here alone with my thoughts. How stupid of me? I see a montage playing in my head, I see the wrecked state of my family, flashes of the way we were: happy, me and my siblings smiling as our mother and father share a sweet kiss and then I see the way we exist nowadays. Yes, I say exist; we're not a family anymore we are simply individuals who share a house, going from day to day merely existing. I remember what changed it all, it was the day I lost my older siblings; I didn't lose them to disease, they didn't die in a tragic accident. My role models, Tanner and Mallory, the people who helped me recover from the grief that had consumed me after my twin sister Nadia's death and later on my best friend Leia's untimely passing. Do you want to know how they died? They were publicly executed for treason, planning to insight rebellion; and do you want to know what I think? My brother and sister were right, things need to change. The Capitol's power has gone to their heads, and that is not right; nothing they do is right. They have taken my brother and sister, shattering our family's core.

Because of the Capitol I am trapped here, in the monotony of life: My mother, emotionally blank; a robot who just goes through her day-to-day routine as if nothing is wrong, losing three children leaves a woman as an empty shell: without purpose. My father buries himself in work, choosing to adopt the role of the absentee parent. With my parents being merely echoes of their former happy selves, I am alone and I am angry. I have every right to be angry, my rage is justified: and it is all the Capitol's fault. We were recovering from Nadia's death after she had contracted influenza; I had lost my best friend, my other half and then they snatch away two more members of my family. It was an injustice of the highest degree and of course, seeing as it was the Capitols orders they were unpunished. It makes me sick, sick to my stomach and I am powerless to change a thing. That's the problem with living in the districts of Panem, we are all powerless. Powerless to the whims of the bastard Capitol. I lash out at a nearby tree, hammering my fists into it repeatedly. I scream, not in anger but in frustration: at being powerless, at being alone, at the Capitol. The list is endless. As my rage begins to subside I see that my knuckles are bloodied, scratched; but it feels good, the stinging pain; it proves that I can feel, that I'm not numb and not lost like my parents.

I arrive back at the house, I haven't referred to this place as home in a long time; it seems empty, silent, looming over me: desolate. I push the door open and enter into the hallway; I notice my mother cleaning in the kitchen area, she doesn't acknowledge me, the robot on auto pilot and I don't disturb her: she has the rite to mourn, grieve and be consumed by her pain. Once again, I am totally helpless to help her. I rush up the stairs and lock myself in my room, I throw myself onto my bed, and I cry. I cry for everything I've lost, for someone so young I have lost so much; everyone I love seems to be taken from me. What have I done to deserve this? Have I honestly committed such great sins that some higher power decrees that I must suffer? No, I haven't and this 'higher power' is the Capitol, it's always the Capitol; at this thought my temper flares again. I pick up a floral vase that resides on my bedside cabinet and launch it at the wall. I leave the shattered remains there on the floor, useless and broken: the way I have felt for many years. I take deep breaths, to try and calm myself; it is a futile exercise, I am full of anger and have been for so long and will most likely be full of anger for the rest of my life.

Today is reaping day, please don't mind me while I vomit. For such an occasion, we have to look 'presentable' bollocks, I'll wear what I want to and there is nothing the damn Capitol can do about it, it seems small and petty but whatever way I can defy them, I will. I snatch up the first thing in my chest of drawers and throw it on; its a yellow sundress, it once belonged to my mother and would have been pretty but it hangs from my petite frame. In all honesty, I don't care what it looks like, I haven't looked in a mirror for so long; I simply can't because I know it will be like looking at Nadia: The same fiery red hair, a mound of untameable curls; same cream coloured skin littered with freckles; same petite frame with long legs; same pouted lips which always appear sad; same round, dark blue eyes: We were perfect replicas of one another, two porcelain dolls. I will not preen myself in preparation for the Capitol's arrival. I stand in my room, my hands curled into fists and I'm aching to hit something, I settle for beating my pillow. Minutes or hours pass and I realise I had better be going to the reapings, I might want to rebel but not showing up for the reaping 'ceremony' is literally punishable by law, what a joke? And they call it a bloody ceremony, yeah a ceremony which celebrates the death of two youngsters; where's my party hat? I mutter to myself and I stomp down the stairs as I'm about to leave I turn to address my mother.

'Mom, I'm off you know for the shitty reapings, see you later or whatever. Yeah?'

'That's nice sweetheart' she replies, her voice distant and mechanical; her eyes wide and empty. Nice? Bloody nice? I roll my eyes and stomp off again towards the door; and what's waiting for me on the doorstep? Avery bloody Risseux, the boy who practically stalks me.

'What do you want, Risseux. I'll remind you one more time, stalking is illegal. In case you don't understand, that means it's wrong' without waiting for his answer I storm off from him.

'Sera, why are you always like this? You are always storming about, just stop being a bitch for once' I round on him, ready to pound him black and blue.

'Do one Avery; I really haven't time for your ramblings today. I have more important problems to be dealing with'

'Oh and I don't have problems' His getting red in the face now but I won't back down. He brought this on himself, following me around. Yes, Avery has problems but I'm as powerless to solve his problems as I am in sorting out the mess that is my life.

'Avery, please. Let's just try and forget this for now' His not that bad really, to be honest he usually just hangs around. We have that companionable silence thing going for us. Kindred spirits, seeing as we're both so fucked up. It seems he doesn't want to argue as he just nods his head and resumes walking towards the Justice Building. When we get there I am whisked away into the crowd, I sign in and make my way to the section for 18 year olds, this is my final reaping, then I escape the Capitols clutches. Oh and my day is just getting better and better: Rowena Adams is standing there, sneering at me as per usual; if that girl had a brain she'd be dangerous. Oh, and her she goes opening her big, fat mouth, yet again.

'Oi Ginger, what's up with your face?'

'If you're talking about the expression of displeasure, it's cause I've just laid eyes on you. Bitch'

'Don't you dare talk to me like that, you good for nothing—' Unfortunately she never got to finish that sentence since I'd thrown my fist right into her face; the satisfying crunch brought a smile to my face and the blood that pours from her nose, staining her white satin blouse I truly feel as though I've done my good deed for the day. What can I say? The girl has always gotten on my nerves, and she's always needed a good punch in the face if you ask me. As she starts the scream bloody murder the old fart of a Mayor hobbles onto stage and so the show begins. I yawn, I fidget and I call out profanities but nothing breaks his stride; I'm about to fall asleep when our escort, Harmony Weatherby, bounces onto the stage, a little ball of joy and enthusiasm. Bitch. Over enthusiastic people have always annoyed me, the fact that she comes from the Capitol just makes it ten times worse; her cotton candy pink hair and lavender skin is so 'cute', I literally want to just slap her, hard. And here she goes about how much of an honour it is to be a tribute, bullshit. What's so honourable about being murdered? Fuck all, that's what. And now the real show starts:

'So, like, we're like gonna like choose our female tribute, like. Now, like.' Really, could she be more annoying if she tried? I sincerely doubt it. And then she's got the slip.

'Lily McEldroy'

I look around, it isn't a name I recognise; and then I see a girl emerge from the 12 year old section. Oh shit, look at her. She's tiny, with black hair, big emerald green eyes and a cherubic face. And then it hits me, she looks like someone I know, well knew. Leia, this girl is the mirror image of my best friend that died. She's onstage by now and trembling in fear. The bitch of an escort asks for volunteers, and suddenly I'm running. Next thing I know, I'm on stage.

'Alright, I volunteer' I don't know, call me maternal but I'm morally opposed to seeing twelve year olds brutally murdered, so sue me. Then all hell breaks loose, I see Avery's shocked face but his eyes shine with pride, how strange; People applaud me. What the hell? I'm being sent to my potential death and they cheer, people are strange. And that is why I tend to avoid them. It all gets worse when the escort grabs my arm and starts shouting out into the crowd about how brave I am, I just snap.

'Oh shut it you stupid woman, I cannot bear to listen to you say another bloody word' I then snatch the microphone from her hand and look towards the cameras.

'Oh hey Capitol, I'm the girl you're going to cheer for when I die. Nice right? Well you want a good show; I'll give you a bloody good show.' And on that note I threw the microphone to the ground and stormed to stand over by the district mentors, purposely bumping into Weatherby on my way before turning to the audience and scowling at anyone who dares to make eye contact with me.

Here I am now, the Justice Building; it's time to say goodbye and the fear is starting to settle in. I'm so stupid, I don't regret what I did, I effectively saved a young girls life but I may have cost my parents their only remaining child; Oh damn, I never think these things through. Oh well the only solution is to win, simple. Can I do it? Yeah, I want to come home and I have no problems killing people to do that. Especially those careers, idiots who think it's 'glorious' to go around on mass killing sprees; hey, I have enough rage for all I know going into this arena could be a form of therapy and I've always said I needed therapy. My internal rant is cut short by a knock at the door; I wonder who it'll be, Mom didn't come to the reapings and dad is more than likely buried in work. I swing the door open and there stands Avery.

'What do you want?' I'm blunt, I'm about to be sent to the Capitol to fight for my life so I really cannot be bothered with pleasantries.

'I came to say good luck, I came to tell you that you can do this. You know you can right'

'Oh yeah, it'll be like a bloody holiday. Picking off the careers and sun bathing near the Cornucopia. I'm screwed, fuck, I am actually screwed' My realization kind of killed the sarcasm I was going for; I think Avery might of caught onto my little break down as he walks forward and pulls me into a hug. Wow, talk about unfamiliar territory; but it feels nice and I squeeze him back even though his 6' frame dwarfs my 5'4''; his chocolate brown eyes are swimming with tears, his golden hair falls into his face and then bang, it hits me. We're having a moment, great I may never be coming back and he decides that now is the best time for a 'moment'. Great.

'Come on now Avery, man up and bugger off' I smile though to show him I'm not being my usual snarky self; he smiles in return and turns to go.

'You'll be back soon enough, and you owe me a kiss' his eyes are twinkling, and I think screw it. I don't know whether I'll see him ever again so I just run up to him and kiss him as hard as I can, it's a kiss of passion and it goes on and on with me feeling as if I'm floating on cloud nine, until I hear a cough. I jump from Avery and turn to see my new visitor.

'Dad?' I am shocked; I thought he'd be at work. I think this may be the first time I've seen him in months and now I may never see him again. I just stare, I can't think of what to say so for once I, Seraphine Connolly, am speechless. He walks to me, his blue eyes tearing and kisses me on the forehead and whispers into my ear.

'I love you, sweetheart. I'm sorry, please come back. Do what you have to do, just come back; we couldn't face losing another child' He presses something into my hand and walks off. Totally surreal, I look at what he has given me: Nadia's charm bracelet, I had a matching one but I haven't worn it since she died; well, it seems I have my token. I can feel the tears making track marks down my face as I turn back to Avery. He looks incredibly awkward having just seen my father and I's encounter; I turn to him and smile.

'I'll see you when I get back, Avery. Because I'm sure as hell gonna win this thing' He just smiles.

'I thought we'd lost you there for a second. But it's nice to see the Sera we all know and love' He gives me a quick hug as the peacekeepers arrive. Well then, its show time, and I'm the leading lady.

**Ha ha, and here is the firecracker Seraphine Connolly, don't you just love her? Can we have a round of applause for Dinoshadow for giving me such a kick ass tribute to work with? I'm definitely looking forward to seeing what she does. Let me know what you think about the fiery redhead :D Expect an update soonish!**

**Now review, or else. Well, or else I'll drop kick you right in the face ;) **

**Thanks xxx**

**Right, so many people have been asking for my tribute form, so here it is:**

**BASICS**

**Name:**

**Nickname:**

**Age: **

**District:**

**Appearance (Please be descriptive, not just a list of adjectives):**

**Personality (Be detailed, I do need to get a grasp of your character, if I don't they will be more than likely blood bathed):**

**Family:**

**Friends/Other Relationships:**

**Background:**

**Hobbies:**

**Reaped/Volunteered: **

**Reaction/Reason: **

**Greatest Fear:**

**Greatest Desire:**

**Status in District: **

**Reaping Outfit:**

**Token:**

**Opinion on Hunger Games:**

**CAPITOL**

**Strengths:**

**Weaknesses:**

**Interview Angle (Include any quotes you would like included):**

**Training Strategy:**

**Alliances- if so what are they looking for in an ally:**

**Training Score:**

**How they achieve training score:**

**Reaction to their score: **

**How do they communicate with the other tributes?**

**Trivia (Anything you think I need to know):**

**THE GAMES: **

**Overall strategy:**

**Bloodbath/Cornucopia Strategy:**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Romance:**

**Reactions to seeing someone die:**

**Capabilities to kill:**

**Why should your tribute win?**


	17. Sassy Meets Sweet

**Aloha my beautiful readers :)**

**I am giving you all a little challenge, you don't have to have submitted a tribute to participate; Now in the last chapter I said that District 6 would be getting a new mentor! I need YOU to submit one.**

**There isn't a form; I just need to know these things:**

**Name:**

**Age:**

**District/Games won:**

**Appearance:**

**Personality:**

**Much love! Oh and now we are to meet our wonderful District 7 Male; contributed by the amazing SydneyStateOfMind  
><strong>

**Ardis Campion, District 7.**

I have to admire that Seraphine girl; she really is a fire cracker, like me in a sense and she is undeniably brave seeing that she has all but sacrificed her life to save that young girl. I could never do that; it's not that I am a coward but I could never purposefully place myself into the Hunger Games, it would be futile: I would die, die knowing that I never even attempted in pursuing a relationship with Asher; I am getting seriously frustrated with this whole 'friendship' phase, I mean we're both aware that neither of us view our relationship as simply platonic. I think the only reason he is so hesitant is because of the damned Hunger Games, I mean if one of us were to be reaped what would the other do?

Imagine the torture that is to watch the one you love fight for their life in an arena; knowing full well that 23 other children are in the very same arena fighting just as hard for their own life. It's horrific and inhumane but unlike this Seraphine girl I seem to possess a shred of common sense and know that criticising the Capitol would leave to nothing other than my imminent death and more than likely the death of all my loved ones. I wish I could sigh in relief, I should be feeling immense joy, as if I'm walking on the wispy clouds which are dotted throughout the clear blue skies overhead: I've gotten through yet another reaping, in two years time I will escape the Hunger Games; in two years I will become as free as one can be. Well, as free as girl can be if she lives in one of the districts of Panem.

However, my guts seem to clench in a state of nervous anticipation, my pulse is quickening its pace and my breath is escaping in short, sharp pants; I gnaw on my lip, a clear indication of anxiety and I notice the girls shooting me furtive glances. I understand there reasoning, I haven't been reaped so why should I be anxious; I'm anxious because Asher hasn't escaped this reaping unscathed yet, his name is in that blasted 'urn' over 30 times. Every year he takes out tessarea for his family, he doesn't necessarily need to seeing as he works such long hours in the lumber yard but he does just to make sure that there is a decent meal on the table every single day; I think this selfless aspect of his nature is what originally endeared him to me and since then my attraction to him has simply grown and grown.

I close my eyes, I simply cannot bear to watch as Harmony Weatherby dips her delicate lavender dyed hand into the male reaping bowl; snatching up a slip which bears the name of the male tribute for District 7, I hope with every fibre being that it isn't my Ash. By now Harmony is standing before the microphone; smiling sweetly into the crowd totally unaware of the repercussions of what she is about to say. In that moment everything seems to stand still, I cannot move, I cannot breathe and I scrunch my eyes even tighter and all the hope I had clung to seems to evaporate when I hear the two words I has been dreading to hear; the two words that seem to make every fantasy of love I've ever had disappear.

'Asher Blackwood'

He lied to me, he said this wouldn't happen; he fucking promised. I brought into that optimism of his, the irrational belief that everything will be okay and where has that gotten me? Heartbroken as I see the boy I've loved for three years work towards the stage and although I hate to admit it: To his probable death. When I'd escaped the reaping, I thought that there may have been truth in his words. Look at him now, smiling brightly and 'looking on the bright side'; doesn't he realise that there is no bright side in this situation, he will die and then what, I'll be left here: Alone and broken.

I should have stuck to my pessimistic attitude, it would've been a lot more helpful in this situation, clinging desperately to hope and having it snatched away is not the preferable option I tell you now; Pessimism may make you seem surly but it always makes sure that you're prepared for the worst.

I feel bile rise in my throat, and silent tears sting my eyes no matter how much I try to prevent them falling; all of my girlish dreams are gone now and I have to face the reality that the man I'd foolishly believed would one day be my husband is sentenced to death and I can do nothing about it; this is not a career district, Seraphine is the exception not the rule. Volunteers are rare in District 7, rarer than snow in a desert in all honesty; if I were a male I would volunteer and lay my life down for the man I love, but alas I was born female and this option is not available to me. By now Asher is on stage, shaking hands with the Seraphine girl; for Asher to return to me her and 22 others must die, and I eagerly await everyone of those deaths, for every single one brings my man one step closer to coming home, to me.

**Asher Blackwood, District 7.**

I'm standing on the stage looking out into the distant landscape of the district which is, and always will be, home; the powerful scent of crushed pine needles; the tall trees which constitute the majority of the landscape but the most important feature of home isn't some piece of architecture or some natural formation of land: it is that one person that who is your everything, the one person who seems to be the flickering candle amidst the darkness; the girl with the hazel eyes who can look into your very soul, the girl who's flowing mahogany tresses are accented with red in the light of an evenings sun. I don't look for Ardis seeing that I know I will see unadulterated fear, maybe even anger and that will shatter the illusion of acceptance I'm trying to generate. I am not scared, the only feeling I can muster is utter relief. I may have been reaped but it is nothing compared to the despair that would have consumed me if it were Ardis' name that was called only minutes earlier.

You see the thing is that my most prominent quality is my eternal optimism, the way of seeing the brightness in the most grave circumstances; I cannot help but even be optimistic about the games, my odds are as good as anyone else's plus the benefits if I were somehow to win seem to outweigh the downfalls in my opinion: The only downfall is my potential death, albeit gruesome but the benefits; the house in Victors Village, the financial security and if by some long shot I did win; maybe, just maybe Ardis would look at me the way in which I look at her.

Everything appears to be some blur though, I catch the eyes of my many friends dispersed through the crowd; I see my father holding my mother as she cries, my elder brother staring at the ground and my best friend Gino; he is staring at me intently, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. As I shake the Connolly girl's hand I risk a glimpse to where I know Ardis to stand, she just wears an expressionless mask; standing eerily still as if she were a corpse, dead to the world and everything happening around her. The smile that I was wearing disappeared as I longed to run and hold her in my arms; kiss her and comfort her the way I have wanted to for so long, as a lover; in this moment I don't care if she sees 'us' in a solely platonic light. This chance is robbed though as I am directed towards the Justice Building.

The first people to burst through the door are my family; my father, Benedict Blackwood is usually a stern man who seems emotionally void but right now he wears a pained expression and his usually narrowed eyes are rimmed with red; his broad shoulders are slumped in defeat, he looks haggard: not the strong man I grew up knowing him to be. My mother, Lenora is in a worse state; held up by my father her chest is heaving with broken sobs, her hands balled into fists and eyes so swollen by tears which are falling freely, she collapses forward into my open arms. Words fail her but she moves her frail hands up to my face as if to memorise every small detail, every feature of my rugged face. My elder brother, Eridon, is pacing the room; running his calloused hands, which are so similar to my own, through his sandy blonde hair; the colour he shares with mother, whereas I have father's brown locks.

'You're strong Ash, you're gonna win this.' My brother, his voice is worried; he is nodding at me frantically, he resumes his pacing as father comes forward; he is shaking and places his large hand on my shoulder.

'Son, remember that allies will help, don't get too attached to anybody and get your hands on an axe; play the likable lad that you are, it'll get you some sponsors' I listen to every word, my father rarely offers advice but its an unspoken rule that if he does bless us with his supposed infinite wisdom you listen and act upon it.

The time with my family consists mainly of hugs and goodbyes, tears are shed and advice is given; once my family leaves and my brother vows to look after my parents whatever happens the parade of my friends begin. I smile as they wish me well, comfort them as they cry and hug them as they leave but there are only two people I want to speak to right now.

Gino Mandaly bursts through the door, it is five years this very day that we met; two petrified twelve year olds bonding as they considered that either one could be called to their deaths. The rest is history; he is my best friend and I trust him implicitly and that's why I have a specific task for him and him alone. I break the silence.

'So it seems after 5 years one of us was finally chosen eh?' The corner of his lips turn upwards at my half hearted joke, he shakes his head at my positivity and I open my arms in invitation for a 'man hug'; he steps forward and embraces me, his vice tight grip crushes the air from my lungs.

'I can't believe you're going Asher, I really hope you win, you're gonna try right? For us all.' I just nod my head, contemplating how I'm going to ask him for this favour.

'Mate, I'm gonna try as hard as I can to come home. I promise, but if I do fail please , will you do me a favour? It'll mean everything to me.'

'Anything, you know I'll do it, why ask?'

'Look out for Ardis, make sure she finds love; I want her to live and not to dwell on this, any of it. Just let her know I love her and that I want her to move on.' He stares blankly but nods his head all the same; he is my best friend and I know he would make sure my 'last request' of sorts would come to fruition.

'I promise' After that we just chat, and then he has to leave; work waits for no one and he was expected at the lumber yard as I would have been if it were not for me being reaped. Almost all of my time is gone and I'll be on the train, I cannot suppress the sadness that threatens to overwhelm me; it may be the last time she may ever see me and she hasn't come. I knew she didn't love me the way I did her, but I thought we were good enough friends that she would at least come to say goodbye.

Suddenly, the door burst wide open and she storm through the door and her jaw is set in determination; she flies towards me and I open my arms but instead of the embrace I anticipate I received a hard slap.

'You lied to me' its an accusation, and technically I did lie since I said we'd both be OK but seeing as I face imminent death but obviously this isn't an excuse in Ardis' eyes; she is so passionate and I love her for it.

'I'm sorry…'

'Don't apologise to me Ash, just promise me something' her gaze had shifted from blazing passion to an innocent hope; her hazel eyes are wide an I could never say no to such a face.

'Anything, you know I'd do anything for you, anything Ardis' she smiles, at my words and leans up to kiss my cheek.

'Come back to me Ash, do whatever you must. My life isn't worth living without you here.' I must look shocked as I nod my head, in my wildest dreams I've never imagined Ardis saying such a thing. She continues as I just stand there staring at her.

'Yes, I know you don't feel the same as me Ash but I had to tell you: I love you, always have and always will; so please just make sure you come home' I cannot breathe, I lean down and kiss her softly; trying to say how much I love her through that kiss. I think it works as a giggle escapes.

'I've loved you since I laid eyes on you, and that passion of yours Miss Campion. I promise to come home, for you.' a glorious smile lights up her features; she reaches to grab something from around her neck. She holds out the necklace I gave her on her sixteenth birthday; a wooden medallion carved into a flame insignia, to symbolise the fire inside of her and her fiery attitude.

'Ash, you gave this to me for the fire inside of me right? Well, you've got that same fire; I know you have and I know you're gonna come home to me' she pushes the necklace into my hand and pulls me in for our first proper kiss, soft but passionate and hopefully the first of many to come. As she pulls away, the Peacekeepers have come to escort me to the train; I turn to Ardis and give her one last tender kiss before I'm led away, determined to keep the promises I'd just made.

**Seraphine Connolly, District 7.**

'You can keep your dirty hands to yourselves; do I look like an invalid? I'm perfectly capable of getting on a train alone, I'm hardly gonna do a runner' I swear if these bastard Peacekeepers keep trying to poke and prod me I'll break one of their jaws. I'm just getting on the train and I think what the hell, I turn around and head butt one of the Peacekeepers; it might be the last chance I have to do so, and it is one of the things I've always wanted to do. If I'm destined to die you can be sure that I'm gonna do what the hell I like.

I storm into the train to find Harmony blasted Weatherby fussing over my district partner, Ash Blackwood was it? That boy is built like a brick shithouse, well I think that's the saying anyway; he's about 5'9'' and built like a mountain with bulging biceps and dark, rugged features. Rather handsome, in that 'manly' way; all in all he is the polar opposite to my red headed, porcelain doll physique. Well they do say the bigger they are, the harder they fall and trust me: He will have an incredibly hard fall.

'Oh and here's the wonderful Seraphine, so brave' I feel like ripping my hair out, that Capitol bitches voice grates on me something awful, and I'm sorry but with the whole fight for my life thing my patience is wearing incredibly thin.

'Right, I've told you to shut it once today. If I have to tell you again I swear to God I'll ram my fist down your throat' I smirk when her eyes widen in absolute terror and she flees the room like a dog with a tail in between her legs. Asher looks appalled at my manners as if he's about to say something but I silence his words with a glare, raising my eyebrows as if daring him to try and question my actions. I waltz over to the table and grab a plate, filling it with all this Capitol food: fried asparagus and chicken in a hollandaise sauce; I will give the Capitol one thing, their food is pretty good, better than anything I've ever tasted.

'So, my name is Asher Blackwood, and you're Seraphine Connolly right?' He extends his hand toward me, a friendly smile on his face; I roll my eyes, isn't he aware that we're about to be thrown into an arena and made to fight one another till death? Is he that stupid?

'Yep, but I prefer Sera' I don't shake his hand and eventually drops it onto the table, his expression contemplative; he twiddle his thumbs for a while and then he tries to initiate conversation yet again.

'You know, we could be allies? It'll be easier to have someone to watch your back and that, we could be a dynamic duo' His smiling gormlessly as if his just suggested the greatest idea ever, don't make me laugh it's a bloody awful idea.

'Easier? Are you kidding me? Let me explain; say if we were allies and we became great friends. Then, we have to kill one another? Yes, being allies sounds like a fucking great idea' my sarcasm seems to burn him and he flinches away from me, then I hear our mentor Blight clear his throat; I turn to look at him, daring him to contradict me.

'Missy, your attitude ain't gonna help you in these games; you need sponsors and everything so you need to become more approachable like Asher here. Allies will be a big help.' He shakes his head at me, all tanned skin and grey eyes; his salt and pepper hair is cropped short and his full lips are turned downwards. Does this man not realise I've been practically sentenced to death? I am not in the mood to be dictated to, I will smile for the cameras and praise the Capitol for their 'generosity' but right now I just want some space.

I stand to leave and Blight reaches forward to grab my wrist but I slam it down onto the table and I hear a loud snap, in no time I have a knife in my hand and I'm staring Blight down; Asher seems frozen in shock, probably thinks I'm mentally unstable. Oh well.

'Right, I'm sorry about your wrist. I'll play the game, be all smiles and simpering but right now I'm going to my room, we can talk later. Right now I just want to punch someone' I leave the room then, hearing Asher fussing over my mentor; bloody suck up.

**Blight, District 7 Mentor.**

I won my Hunger Games 18 years ago, and in that time I've never seen District 7 tributes with such potential; they are a right pair those two. The girl looks like a human doll, all creamy skin, curly red hair and sparkling blue eyes; pretty short two but she has got one hell of an attitude, oh and some strength too.

The boy is sweet, all smiles and helpfulness; all optimism and gentility; but his looks say anything but, short and stocky with tanned skin and black eyes; he could of played the strong and silent type but I don't think he could pull it off seeing as he is all about the 'bright side' of life. The girl, ideally I'd have her playing the fragile, innocent girl; sweet and humble. I think I've got more chance at sassy and sarcastic.

There going to be a challenge but I think I might have a winner on my calloused hands; my mind turns to the fact that some time soon I may have company up in Victors Village apart from the old codgers who have been labeled as incompetent as mentors seeing as they're mostly senile.

**Ok then, District 7 is COMPLETE! **

**Thanks to Dinashadow for Seraphine Connolly**

**AND **

**SydneyStateOfMind (with full stops between each word) for Asher Blackwood**

**Review, oh and I'll probably update tomorrow! It'll be District 11 :) **

**Loves Yah!**


	18. Innocence and Arrogance

**Hahaaa, See I'm really on a roll today with updates :D I have officially created the D8 Male; The reason I'm updating is because I want to get to the Pre-Games as soon as possible plus it's my friends birthday this weekend and I'll be out most of the time :) Now, lately people's reviews have been slowing down and in all honesty I have to say this is disappointing…So review and I won't whinge like a petulant child ;) **

**So we're here at the D8 Reapings, and after this there is only 2 chapters (potentially three until the whole Pre-Games which will be over in like 10 chapters, but anticipate longer chapters… and once all this reaping business is done I'll be opening a poll about favourites and all that jazz) **

**Okay, Credit goes to:**

**Me for Lyle Carrington**

**AND**

**IzzyRoxUrSox14 for Lacey Burton**

**Lyle Carrington, District 8.**

Today is the first step in getting what I want, and I always get what I want because I am Lyle Carrington and the whole world falls before my feet: Today I volunteer for the Hunger Games and then I win, essentially claiming world wide fame and I will be renowned as the greatest Victor the Hunger Games have never known. It's simple and of course I suppose there is a chance that I could lose my life: Not going to happen, I know these games are rigged and everyone will want me to win: I am heartbreakingly handsome and I practically ooze too much charm for most of the whores around here, I will leave District 8 behind and go to the Capitol: where I belong. Seriously, every man, woman and child in the Capitol will be rooting for me to win and who is President Snow to disappoint his beloved Capitol citizens.

To everyone else I am snobbish and have a severe superiority complex; I am a snob at all seeing and I do have a superiority complex but unlike most I am not afraid to admit it: I am superior to most people because I actually have a back bone and I go out and get what I want, I want it all: to be called a Victor, the money, the girl and the glory and I'll do what I have to in order to get it whereas most are happy to sit here content with their lot; Pathetic wastes of space, sometimes I find myself thinking that the world would be a better place if the human race ceased to exist, well apart from the likes of myself of course.

I catch a fleeting glance of myself in the mirror, and I literally have to stop to admire myself for a little while; I mean my superiority over others has actually manifested through my physical appearance: I am a physical phenomena and it truly will be a shame if I die, for Panem will have lost one of the most aesthetically pleasing people to have ever existed but that doesn't matter since I'm coming out. Whether it is my platinum blonde hair that really does feel like silk to the touch; or maybe my amber eyes and how they are framed with thick black lashes; or my bone structure which looks like it was carved by the great artists who once walked this Earth: Michelangelo or Botticelli.

Vanity is not a crime, and people always say you should appreciate what you have and well I am exceptionally handsome and I appreciate it. The midnight blue blazer is tailored to enhance my lean build, bringing attention to my broad shoulders, muscled arms and my stunning abs and then the shirt being left open just a 'little' shows my sculpted chest. Honestly, I don't think I'm human; because I'm pretty damn sure that no other human in the whole of Panem is attractive as I, I slick my hair to one side and just take a moment to admire myself: Literally people should worship the likes of me, I would if I were in anyone else's position.

I walk downstairs and see my family's maid rushing around trying to fix my breakfast; this darn woman is totally scatter brained, she seriously needs to learn how to do her job or she'll be back on the streets from which she came: Pathetic. I stand at the foot of the stairs and watch her flutter around muttering to herself, I mean what kind of world is it when even the hired help is completely useless? Before I depart for the Capitol I will make sure that mother fires her, disgusting woman with stains all along her pinafore: working for the Carrington family you are expected to hold yourself with some decorum which this woman so blatantly lacks.

'Edina, where is my breakfast? You know that I eat at this time every morning and yet you still seem to forget. Do you want to lose this job? Do I have to beat it into you, you disgust me.' The woman pales so much that her skin appears translucent and she tries to stutter out a response but I silence her by raising my hand if I wanted to listen to her pathetic excuses well I would have asked. She flinches as I raise my hand, her face a perfect mask of terror and it feels great: I have the power and I have no qualms about using it; I allow a sadistic smile to curl onto my face as I move towards her, relishing her fear that saturates the air: I may as well give this invalid woman a good beating before I go, for old times sake. She must see the malicious glint in my eye and she tries to escape: doesn't she know that 'Cat and Mouse' is my favourite game.

**Lacey Burton, District 8**

Oh my goodness, there is so much to do and oh so very little time to do it with this Reaping business; I place the satin back down and re arrange the bobbin before pushing down on the pedal and guiding the luxurious material so that the seam is fully assembled and when I double loop I take my foot from the machine. Being a girl from District 8 you learn at a young age that a sewing machine may as well be your best friend because it'll be the thing you spend most of your time with; being only 12 years old many would expect that schooling would be my primary concern but that isn't the case. I study at night but all day I am working in my mother's boutique creating luxurious clothes for the 'ladies' here in District 8. I think it is funny that although I am the young girl who makes these dresses I'll never be able to afford to wear one, but that is the way life is and I won't question it because it would just cause an unnecessary kerfuffle; and then everything would just fall into chaos and well I don't want that one bit.

'Lacey' I hear my mother's soft voice from the doorway and I swing to look at her, she shakes her head when she see's what I am doing; my mother said I may as well be surgically attached to the sewing machine but she also says I should have my hand glued to a book so I just roll my eyes good naturedly and re direct my attention to the machine; I'm almost finished when the machine literally just stops. I turn to my mother who's still watching from the doorway.

'Mom, I didn't break it, I promise I was doing everything by the book. Oh, what have I done? You can dock my wages and I'll stay up extra late to finish these things by hand; it can be haute couture. I really am so sorry.' I can feel tears in my eyes, I really have messed things up this time; without a working machine we may as well wave goodbye to any food on our table and it's my entire fault. Surprisingly my mother starts laughing and I can feel my mouth fall open in shock: Has she gone loony? This really is not a laughing matter and quite frankly I am bewildered

'Lacey, I shut off the power darling; don't work yourself up over nothing.' I breathe a sigh of relief, but that is soon replaced by my annoyance; why didn't mom warn me? It would of saved me all that stress over thinking I'd broken the sewing machine, it really does seem that people are so inconsiderate of other's feelings and that really irks me; I pout my lips and cross my arms, that'll make sure mom knows that she is in my bad books: However petulant it may make me seem.

'Mom, that wasn't very nice and why have you shut off the power, we've still got another four hours before we close up shop and look at how much I have to do. However bad this may sound, you are not acting like a very good business women: we have a demand and I need to make the supplies' To a stranger it may seem surreal seeing a 12 year old girl lecture one of her elders but sometimes my mom has her head in the clouds; creative people like my mother are prone to getting lost in their own thoughts so sometimes I have to step in and bring her back to reality. But today it doesn't look like she is away with the fairies in fact she is looking at me as though I'm the one who has lost sight of reality, she has raised her eyebrow and looks at me expectantly as if I am meant to able to fill in the blanks: Well I can't and mom must realise this because she lets out an exasperated side and moves toward me.

'Sweetie today is only a half day because of the reapings.' She was right, how could I have forgotten? I've been dreading this day since I turned 12 last month; and now the fear this day brings to me every year returns but 10 times stronger seeing as this is the first year I will actually be eligible; the effect is instantaneous: tears start falling freely down my face, my guts seem to clench in anticipation and I shake uncontrollably; it could be me, and what would I be able to do against the careers? What would I be able to do? I can't catch my breath and I feel all clammed up, I practically feel all of the colour leave my face and the smile I had previously worn disappeared. My mom must sense my distress because she rushes over and pulls me into a fierce hug, stroking my hair and littering my face with kisses.

'Darling, you mustn't get upset about this! You will not get picked; your name is in there only once. The odds are in your favour; the odds are in your favour remember that. Now, be brave my baby girl: I've brought you a present.' My mother's soothing words make me see that the odds are actually in my favour; my name is in that bowl once and there are thousands upon thousands of names; how could I have been so silly? Over reacting like that was pointless and caused unnecessary stress. And a present? I wonder what it is: maybe a new trinket, or a hair ribbon or maybe a new book, or roll of thread.

'Do you promise Mom?' Although my worries had alleviated I still wanted my mom's reassurance but she smiled: she must realise that her words have comforted me, my voice is perkier and full of its usual optimism and I can feel the blush returning to my cheeks. Everything will be okay.

'Yes, I promise. Now, do you want your present or not?' Well, you don't have to ask a girl twice.

**Fortuna Demarita, District 8 Escort.**

Humph, this escorting business really isn't for me; I wouldn't be here if it weren't for father threatening to cut me off. I just literally collapse in anguish whenever I imagine it; being disowned, having no money: It's a ghastly thought though isn't it, being poor in the Capitol? Heinous is the word I'd use to describe it. That's why for a couple of weeks every year I subject myself to thee torture of visiting District 8 and choosing the two little brats destined for death; Oh, last year did make me giggle: the Mayor's son was chosen and it was so hilarious when he was crying for his mother as he was disembowelled; me and Patricia could not stop laughing for weeks. I swear District 8 is most possibly the worst district in the whole of Panem, with the only exception being District 12; it's very low on Victor's I tell you. 3 and one of them is a bumbling mess of a 21 year old, the other an old man who is as deaf as a dingbat and then some morphling addled freak who stares just a bit too much for my liking. In all honesty I don't think I get paid enough to deal with this: I mean, I literally have to bathe for a whole week in order to rid myself of the stench that contaminates me after my annual visit to District 8.

See at first I thought that with District 8 being the 'textile' district it would be as on point with the latest trends and fashions just like my beloved Capitol but believe me when I say that is not the case. It is full of smog, factories and well nasty, dirty, ugly, smelly people: I mean all the tributes smell like they've never had a bath, there truly is not perfume in the world to mask their malodorous scent; it lingers. Every year I ensure that the sheets the dirty little animal children are burnt; who knows what types of the diseases they might be carrying?

'Fortuna are you ready for the reaping to commence?' Oh there goes the monotonous drone of Mayor Gordon; he always seems so depressed, I mean he only lost one son and he has like four so I really don't get the whole 'upset' thing he has going on. Seriously, just like get over it. But it's not good for the escorts to be too surly so I plaster on my mega watt smile and give a girlish giggle.

'Of course Mayor, Fortuna Demarita is always ready for her loving audience.' He just stares blankly at me before leading the procession out; first him and his advisors who also seem to be robots, seriously what is so difficult about smiling? I do it all of the time. And then there are the Victors, Cecelia is a pretty girl I suppose but she looks sad, and then Frederick the morphling addict is just dawdling along like some mentally challenged child and then Woof the old man who literally shuffles along at the slowest pace imaginable. As soon as the dysfunctional entourage are onstage I make my entrance; walking briskly and making sure to sway my hips I swagger onstage and wave to the audience. No one waves back which is rather rude, were this animal people things never taught manners?

'Hello little people, it's that special time of year again when one lucky boy and one lucky girl get to join me on a journey to the Capitol. Aren't you all excited?' I take a pause and they all seem like corpses, no recognition that I've even spoken. How rude can you get? I move to the bowl at the left right of the stage and snatch up a name, it's not as if I care, and waltz back over to the microphone.

'The lucky little lady is none other than….' I always leave a dramatic pause, it builds tension and drama and well who doesn't love drama? They're hanging on my every word, finally they show some life but instead of applauding my use of pause they look scared. What have they got to be scared of? I mean, like they get to come to the Capitol and to the likes of these dirty people, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity; Yes, they may die but doesn't everyone? And I personally would rather die than have to live somewhere like this. Oh well, let's put them out of their misery.

'Lacey Burton' I hear screams and the whole 'Not them' and in all honesty I'm really tired of people questioning the Capitol; I nod towards the Peacekeepers and they go to collect the tribute. Oh great, a bloody 12 year old well that'll be no fun whatsoever; they always die like right away. She is tiny, even for her age: this little animal person could be 8, she is well a snivelling mess but she is trying to look fierce, not working at all. Right, she's a little closer now so I can see her properly: well this girl is so pale she must never have seen sunlight, honesty she is bone white apart from a blush the colour of raspberry that mars her cheeks; I'm surprised, she is thin but not emaciated so her family must have a bit of money and her hair is the most divine shade of like a warmish chocolate brown with natural lowlights; if I got at it with a good conditioner it would be like beautiful, as long as she took it out of that messy bun. Oh, I think this is a cute little girl, she has the elfin features and the wide blue eyes which seem to sparkle; what a little sweetheart? She walks onstage and I critique her outfit and I'm surprised that it is almost, very nearly stylish: a yellow silk pinafore with white sandals, poor little pumpkin! She'll be dead in a week. I give her an encouraging smile but she just stares ahead, however cute she may be she is going to have to work on her manners. Now, on with the show…

'Our male tribute is…'

'I volunteer' What? I am in District 8 right? I've never heard of such a thing, well some people volunteer from the outlying districts; I mean, like people with death wishes or psychopaths and then the odd elder sibling but this doesn't sound like the voice of some suicidal moron, a psycho and it couldn't be an elder sibling seeing as I never called a name. The voice is confident but smooth like honey, it's a very sexy voice; watch my look it'll be a right minger now won't it? And then I see him, what a man; I think I'm going to enjoy escorting this one and I can think of a million different ways I could escort this one. Sorry little girl, you may be cute but this boy is something else. Blonde hair, gorgeous face and the body of an Adonis; a real volunteer, oh he may be a career and then I'll be able to cosy up to Platinum Herzesky and then oh it'll be fabulous. His onstage now, and if it's even possible he is better looking up close; those amber eyes of his could hold me in a trance from here until kingdom come.

'And what is your name young man?' I slide to his side and stroke his arm, although I'd much rather be stroking something else of his; I even use my 'sexy' voice which means making it lower and more gruff, it really does work wonders. He smiles and I swear I almost faint.

'The name is Lyle Carrington and you'd do well to remember it.' Oh he is so charming and handsome and oh my goodness it's my turn to speak.

'I introduce your tributes, Lyle Carrington and Lacey Burton. Happy Hunger Games and as always, may the odds be ever in your favour.' The tributes shake hands, as tradition dictates. The male dwarfing the young girl, he stands strong and she seems to be shaking like a leaf: As I said, she'll be dead within the week.

**Lacey Burton, District 8.**

I just can't bring myself to cry; its shock according to my mom, I just can't believe it. It's just a nightmare, I'll wake up and this will never have happened. Oh, who am I trying to kid? I am about to go and die, it sounds morbid and the terrifying fact is that it is true. 12 years old and I've gotten a death sentence, it just sounds weird; I mean, it was my first year: This wasn't mean to happen, not at all. My shock is also tinged with anger, my mom promised it wouldn't happen and it did and she promised that I'd do well which I most likely won't, but I will try at least however much the Hunger Games petrify me; I won't let my fear hold me back because as soon as I enter that arena I will not be Lacey Burton, the sweet little girl who is always sewing or reading; I will be the District 8 female who will kill mercilessly with a knife as my new sewing needle. And if it's not me in the arena, well that means that whatever I do in there won't haunt me.

I can't believe I'm on this train already; time has blurred since my reaping and well I can hardly remember the goodbyes, I can only just about picture the faces of my family and friends and hear just a faint echo of advice but I didn't listen. They were already mourning me, my death a guarantee; I mean my friends used the word 'were' instead of 'are', as in the past tense as if I don't even exist anymore. In a sense they're right, until these games are over I'm no longer Lacey, but the District 8 female but I will be back; Lacey Burton will return home to her sewing machine and her plethora of books and life will return to normal because isn't that what we all crave here in Panem, a sense of normality. I see their faces: Mom, Dad, Weave my brother, Flax and Calico my friends and I feel a sense of longing to see them again, to listen to Mom and Dad's pointless bickering; to watch Calico tease Flax and for Weave to just be the annoying big brother he has always been.

I stroke the bracelet on my wrist: A basic cloth bracelet with multicoloured cotton running through it. It's Weave's and he was my main source of comfort in the Justice Building; he told me to find allies, to strike from a distance and to avoid direct confrontation. He thinks I can win and according to him, he is never wrong and well with my life on the line I sincerely hope that he is right in this instance. In one week it begins, I think I'll allow myself those tears now. As I'm crying I hear someone enter the compartment; I peek over my shoulder and spot my district partner. I think his name is Lyle and simply looking at him almost makes me convulse in fear; he is watching me intently like a cobra before it strikes and it's thoroughly unnerving.

'Lacey isn't it?' I nod, I don't trust myself to speak without breaking down in sobs and I can't show weakness; however much I don't like the idea this boy is my enemy and will more than likely try and kill me at some point. He smiles, showing a perfect set of white teeth and I give him a small smile in response but I know his smile is anything but sincere; it's like the cat that got the cream, with me being the cream and I don't like it one bit.

'Well, when I kill you I will try to ensure that you don't get cut up too badly; I'm sure your family will be able to recognise you whether or not your missing a limb' he has moved forward so that he is looming over me, physically he is scary but what is even more terrifying is that he probably will kill me: He volunteered for this, he must be capable unless he has a death wish. I feel my eyes widen as I scurry away from him, I can't let him inside my head but I cannot be in the same room as someone who has made it very clear they want to kill me. He laughs and I dart out of the room and hopefully as far away from that scary boy as physically possible on this train. His manic laughter seems to ricochet off of the walls and I can imagine him laughing as he slices tributes open, bathing in their blood: The image is so sickening that I find the nearest vase and empty the contents of my stomach into it; I'm so weak, how could I ever do this? Oh right, because I'm no longer Lacey Burton: I am the District 8 female and she isn't scared of the big bad wolf called Lyle whatsoever; in fact she is more than happy to take him and his ego down a peg or two.

**Lyle Carrington, District 8.**

Scaring that pathetic little girl was the most fun I've had all day; and that is including the nice beating I gave the whore Edina who's blood has crusted beneath my perfectly manicured nails and the shock on every single persons face when I volunteered; I really wish that I could of taken a photograph because I really wanted to laugh. On that thought I do need a shower, I don't want her whore blood lingering on my body anymore. I shuffle over to the window and watch the people outside, just going about their everyday lives; well they can continue living their lives of poverty and work whereas I am on my way to eternal glory, and my final destination is becoming Victor of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games. I close my eyes and let my imagination run wild, a symphony of screams fill my ears like the greatest symphony and I can feel the slickness of warm blood covering my hands and I can taste the fear and the terror on the tip of my tongue and it is phenomenal; what truly excites me however is that this twisted fantasy of mine will become reality before I know it, one week today in fact.

'Lyle, where's Lacey?' I turn to find myself face to face with a young woman who is twenty at the oldest, with pale blonde hair and brown eyes the colour of milk chocolate; rather hot with those pouted lips but she's not worth my time. I think her name is Cecelia, she won the Hunger Games a few years back and however shocking it may seem with her petite frame she was a great warrior and surprised us all with her knack for murdering. She is sweet in her nature I understand, and this is shown by the soft whisper which is her voice: gentle, soothing and totally unnecessary when talking to someone like me. I could learn a few things from her, I force my features into a gracious smile a step towards her, she watches my movements and stares into my eyes.

'I think she excused herself to go to her room, most likely scared; would you like a seat? We have so much to talk about.' I gesture towards the large table; she appears to scrutinise me before throwing her head back and laughing, maybe her time in the arena sent her crazy? Who dare has the nerve to laugh at Lyle Carrington?

'You can keep your charm; I'm not your mentor, and God help me if I find out you hurt that little girl. Well, you won't be making it to the arena.' She is sending me a murderous glare and I feel my rage threatening to bubble to the surface; how dare some pitiful woman like her disrespect me, does she know who I am? She sweeps from the room, most likely to find the little brat, Lacey was it? I am rather angry, she could've taught me quite a lot and I get Woof, who I'm pretty sure is already asleep. I'll make sure to make that little girls death as gruesome as possible, maybe then Cecelia will regret her hasty rebuttal of me.

'Oh Lyle, where is everybody else?' Ah Fortuna, with her tacky fuchsia hair and maroon skin; ugly as they come but I can most probably exploit her in one way or another: Escorts help arrange sponsors and well that'd be very helpful. I give her my most flirtatious smile and I see her sway on her feet; it's good to know I can still put any woman on her back.

'Fortuna, how about we have a little discussion regarding sponsors?' I take a step closer until I'm pressing her against the panelled wall of the train compartment, breathing heavily into her ear; she squirms in evident pleasure, pressing her petite body against my own. She gasps and starts running her hands across my chiselled torso, before looking up at me through her fake eyelashes.

'But where would we go?' Her voice is husky now, she is yearning for me. Stupid woman, eating right out of my hand but I smirk and trail kisses along her collarbone, she groans in pleasure before I answer her question.

'How about your bedroom? More room to … stretch out.' She practically squeals in delight before dragging me from the room with surprising force; I can practically see the silver parachutes falling at my feet. I really would do anything for sponsors: Including sleep with this insufferable woman.

**Haha, wonderful readers there are our District 8 tributes; what a pair? Let me know your thoughts about Lyle and Lacey…and Fortuna? I struggled with Cecelia a little bit because there never was much to go off from the books so she may be a bit OOC but hey…**

**Review, oh and Loves Yah as always xxx**


	19. Just My Luck PART 1

**Well, back yet again! This time with the District 9 Reaping Chapter :D These two are a funny pair who I have found difficult in creating so make sure to let me know your thoughts :) Unlike the previous chapter this is going to be set out over 2 shorter chapters… I want to introduce all tributes so that I put up a poll! :D **

**Oh and just a little question…would you like to return to District 2 once more before we get to the Capitol? Or should I save Sandy/ Claude's volunteering justifications for a bit later in the story? **

**Now credit goes to:**

**Amo-scribere for Fiona 'Finn' Harkin**

**AND **

**SilverPhoenixFire2000 for Aezir Marston**

**Aezir Marston, District 9.**

I slice through the sheaves of wheat with my sickle, the debris falling to the ground; someone else is assigned the duty of harvesting the grain, my sole purpose in this field is to cut them down with my trusty sickle. This sickle is my life line, without it I could not work and if I could not work well I don't know what I'd do with my time seeing as in District 9 it's work or well merely exist; plus the wages from this help put food on the table and being 16 years old means I have to contribute to the household as much as my mother or father. See as soon as I learned to wield this sickle proficiently I took the risk of taking out tessarea: I know the result is that my name is added to the death bowel a number of extra times but it's worth it to make sure we get at least some food inside of us on a regular basis. I mean I have confidence that if the odds aren't in my favour I'd have a good shot in the games; admittedly not as good as the careers but I'm really persistent and I'll keep striving towards any goal I set myself: And the higher the cost, the more determined I become to achieve my goal and in relation to the Hunger Games; my life is the possible cost so I would be exceptionally determined to achieve my goal of surviving.

Now don't think that I am some idiot who thinks that because I am more prepared than most in my district that I would volunteer because that would never happen; if the odds are in my favour and I never have a brush in with the Hunger Games then I'll be a very happy man, it's just that I want to be prepared for any possibility and however much I may not want to admit it: There is a possibility that I'll be pulled into the Hunger Games but if I am at least I know I've taken some time to try and prepare myself. I may not be as physically primed as these career tributes but I've done enough to make sure that I stand a fighting chance: The callous' that line my hands show the long hours I've spent wielding sickles, scythes and machetes and my broad shoulder and muscled arms are a testament to my physical strength; and coming from a district who's primary trade is grain it is pretty much given that I'm adequate at identifying edible plants, although the knowledge could be improved upon. Now, I'm not saying that I'm perfect because I have more than enough weaknesses but what most people don't recognise is that everyone has weakness' and if I notice someone's weakness: I am more than prepared to exploit it especially if it helps me overcome an obstacle before me.

I continue to hack through the sheaves, my pace is a lot quicker than my colleagues; it's helpful since I get through my quotas quicker than everybody else which leaves me with slightly more spare time but at the same time it is a curse: It allows my imagination to wonder. The tall wheat sheaves before me begin to transform into people, their faces twisted in pain and blood seeping through the wounds I have inflicted: Is it truly this easy to kill another person? Just like hacking down a sheaf of wheat? I hope to never find the answer to that question but I'm pretty confident that if push came to shove and it was kill or be killed, I could kill without a second thought; everyone has their fatal flaws even the ancient Greek warriors like Achilles, well mine is that I'm selfish and in a life or death situation I will always put myself first and that is not always a good thing and on top of that I am a proud young man. I think I've earned my rite to be prideful, I have worked harder and longer than any other boys my age, I am stronger and faster; I'm more mature and most likely more intelligent: It may appear that I am narcissistic but I am not, I've worked to excel whereas many others just seem to float through life without purpose, never conditioning their bodies or their minds; that is why District 9 rarely makes an impression in the Hunger Games.

I hear a siren trill in the distance, I look back to see how far I've ventured into the field; I can see none of my fellow workers in the immediate vicinity. Wow, I've gone further than usual; it's good to know that my body operates on auto pilot even when I am brooding about things that may never happen. The siren is to signal the end of the working day, luckily today is a half day due to the reapings so I'll be able to recover from my strenuous labour; I was really hacking today and I wouldn't be surprised if I had blisters forming along my hands: soaking them in eucalyptus oils should take care of it and if not I'll have Daysha have a look. I trudge through the fields and take a moment to marvel at the sun rising amongst the wheat fields making each individual sheaf of wheat glow as if it were solid gold; the gentle tweet of birdsong, it's very beautiful but wholly ironic for today two children will be taken, most likely to never return. The world really does work in strange ways.

'Aezir' I hear a chorus of shouts, and a smile crosses my lips; wherever I am I can't seem to retain a sense of privacy for long with these three morons as my friends. Mikki, my 'main man' although I hear the new term is a 'wing man'; he is the one who encourages my competitive nature, I've lost count of how many times we've raced through the fields or thrown stones at makeshift targets. Luka is the crazy one, not literally he just seems to take risks when risks don't necessarily need to be taken although sometimes his daring nature does pay off; only the other week he managed to steal a bottle of liquor from right under a Peacekeeper's nose: I really don't have a clue as to how he did that and finally we have Darmin: the brains, or should I say rationality; he is great at keeping the peace because us lot can sure get rowdy but he manages to make sure we cause no trouble, well not much.

'Guys, have you been waiting for me? I'm ever so flattered.' I bat my eyelids which make all the boys break down in hysterical laughter, it wasn't that funny to be frank but whenever it's reaping day everything seems 10 times funnier as people are desperate to cling to any positive emotion they can muster, particularly us four seeing as we've all signed up for tessarea so the odds aren't in our favour and for any one of us this truly may not be a Happy Hunger Games. They all punch me in the arm but I just chuckle as we start our walk back into the town, listening as Mikki goes on about some random girl he was snogging last night; did I mention Mikki was the one that never shut up?

**Fiona 'Finn' Harkin, District 9.**

'Finn, why haven't you taken the bowls out yet?' My mother's voice is an impatient puff, she sounds exasperated but that really is too bad for her; Yolanda Harkin can get as irate as she likes but I still won't do it and no it's not because I don't want to do my chores, I just physically can't. To put it simply, I am disabled or handicapped I don't exactly know how I'd describe it but in laymen's terms my right leg is crippled; the nerves aren't fully formed so whenever I walk my leg is like deadweight forcing my gait to be severely lopsided, it takes practically forever for me to get anywhere with my crappy leg. See, if I tell my mom that it's because of my leg she'll just roll her eyes and lecture me on how it's all in my head and I'm holding myself back and that my leg has nothing to do with it. Bullshit, she doesn't know what it is like to see people eyeing you with pity, being unable to run, skip and do the simplest things: I love my mother very much but she just doesn't understand and she never will.

'I'm trying to do it mom, it's just my leg is getting in the way' I hear my mom continue to huff, I really wonder what has her knickers in such a twist, my younger sister Brianne walks in and tries to grab the bowl from my hand: Oh hell no. I've made it perfectly clear I hate pity whether or not it is coming from Brianne and in all honesty she's only 10, I am 5 years her senior: If anyone's looking after anyone it will be me caring for her, leg be damned. I know my leg holds me back but I don't want people to actually know; my exterior is rather cool, I am independent and confident and if I'm being brutally honest rather snappy but I'd rather be that way than let everyone onto how weak I am; how useless and how damn pathetic my leg has rendered me. I snatch the bowl back from Brianne's who just storms off muttering a number of obscenities, words she should never have heard at her age and if I were capable I'd chase her down and give her a stern talking to.

'Mom, Brianne is swearing' Okay, I may be a bit of a tell tale but hopefully it'll distract my mom from moaning on about how long it took me to bring my bowl in. I just hobble along, mind plagued with depressing thoughts as to how even the elderly move at a quicker pace than I; I'm 15 for crying out loud, I should be running through the fields laughing with friends but no instead I'm confined to hobbling around at a snail's pace and because of that I'm pretty bitter and resentful of the able bodied that I find it difficult to actually make friends. And when I did make a friend, the very same year she was sent to the Hunger Games and well I think it's safe to say that the next time I saw her she was in a box. See? There is someone or something out there that really has it in for me; I mean if there is a God I'll be sure to have words with him when I'm at the pearly gates of heaven. Why do I have to suffer so much when so many others are free to do as they like?

'Don't worry I heard her' Ha, I love Brianne but she's totally in for it! She's always swearing and getting into fights with other kids and everything that I can't do because of my leg; I can't even work in the fields which means I'm socially excluded from everything. It's so unfair, I suppose I am a little jealous of my sister but why shouldn't I be? She's got everything I want and what has she done to deserve it? I mean I'm better in school, I am the one who won the spelling bee for five consecutive years and I performed a speech to the District about harvest season and I arranged the previous years harvest festival seeing as I was unable to actually participate in the harvest,

'Finn, don't think you can avoid my question. What took you so long bringing in that bowl?' I am severely exasperated with my mother in this moment of time; do I need to wear a badge that declares me an invalid? It's blatantly obvious that my leg is the reason for what took so long, so why bother asking? It's so frustrating, what does she want me to say? 'I'm lazy' or 'I forgot': well I can't say that because I'm not lazy and with her pestering me I am pretty sure I didn't forget.

'Why do you think mom? Really? It's because of my leg…isn't it always?' I can't help but get a bit choked up, and I know I sound whiny but I can't help the fact I'm crippled; I'd rather be completely normal, in fact I dream that I am completely normal. My mother is wearing her famous stare of disapproval, any second now she'll take a deep breath to signal the beginning of a lecture, and there goes the breath. Great, and because of my dumb ass leg I can't run away. Dammit.

'Now Fiona Harkin, I don't want to sound inconsiderate but you cannot let that leg of yours cannot control your life, you can't moan about it all the time; you still have to live your life Finn. It's not the end of the world; you can't run properly but you're smarter than anyone else I know. Darling, your just different and have different skills.' My mom smiles at me as if we've shared some form of communal epiphany but that isn't the case whatsoever; I'm pissed off now, patronising me by talking about all these so called 'strengths' of mine. What a joke, she doesn't understand what it's like being crippled; you can't just put a positive spin on it. I huff in anger and turn to storm away.

'No mom, it does control my life. If I had two functional legs I'd be normal, I'd have friends and I wouldn't be damned to spend a life alone and extremely bitter. Whatever you may think, everything that goes wrong and every little thing I can't do is all because of my leg and I've really had enough of people saying it's not my leg; it is and it always will be' I hobble from the room as quickly as my crippled leg will take me, deliberately stomping to let my mom know exactly how pissed I am; it is my legs fault no matter what anyone says; now I'd better go and get ready for the reapings seeing how long it'll take me to climb the stairs to my bedroom. Knowing my shitty luck I wouldn't really be surprised to find myself stuck in the Hunger Games, another scenario where my leg will do nothing but hinder me.

**Haha, so this is part one…just to give you a feeling but as of now you have met all of the tributes and I will be opening a poll soon to see what you think!**

**Now by now you know the drill…REVIEW! And go and vote in the poll!**

**Loves Yah xxx **


	20. Just My Luck PART 2

**Well, I'm back with part 2 of 'Just My Luck' and it's time for the District 9 Reapings; I'm so glad that people are filling in the poll and I'm quite shocked at how many people want Ruby dead in the bloodbath… I mean, I'm listening to your thoughts and will more than likely act on it but I don't think I'll be killing Ruby in the bloodbath…Sorry! Now on the show, continue filling in the poll…and reviewing and all that jazz! **

**Fiona 'Finn' Harkin, District 9.**

I stare at myself long and hard in the mirror, I could be called pretty and if it weren't for my damned leg I'd be able to have boyfriends; I don't know why I bother seeing as no one will ever find me attractive due to my crippled leg and I feel my eyes begin to tear up; No, I am not weak enough to cry: I am strong, independent and whether or not I have a bad leg I will ensure that my pseudo confidence continues to shine. I'm pretty tall, last time mom measured me I was 5'6'' and then I have waist length hair which is a really strange bronze colour; although I like to think it's ginger seeing as God cursed me with this leg, he may as well condemned me to life as a ginger. I am rather pale for district 9 seeing as I can't work out in the fields, harvesting grain so I spend a lot of my time in doors and consequently not in the sun but I've got a decent build with nicely developed curves and then I have pretty blue eyes. The only reason I'm even bothering with this whole dressing up is because of the reaping; we're expected to appear as presentable and however much I think the Hunger Games are a waste of time I'm smart enough to know not to contradict the expectations of the Capitol; it could get you killed, or worse.

I'm wearing a nice yellow blouse and a midnight blue pleated skirt; it's casual but pretty and I look like I could just be going out to meet with friends but that isn't the case, first of all I don't have any friends unless you count Brianne; and with her being my sister she is biologically programmed to like me so it's moot point, although I doubt I'm in her good graces at the moment seeing as I snitched on her to mom. Secondly, the event that I've dressed up for is a potential call to my death; but being the Capitol they find a way to make it glamorous because death is the most glamorous thing isn't it? I brush my hair a few times to try and get out the knots because I think that it resembles a birds nest at the moment.

'Finn, it's time hurry up!' I hear my sister call, how inconsiderate of her; when your leg is a mangled mess like mine you find it pretty hard to hurry so as I make my slow descent downstairs I'm huffing and puffing while glaring at Brianne for her insensitivity; I mean it isn't much to ask for is it? A little bit of consideration but no, I don't even get that; honestly, sometimes I hate my stupid life. As I get to the foot of the stairs my family is waiting for me: Mom, Dad and Brianne; I purposefully give Dad a hug but ignore mom and Brianne because they've irked me off today and well I haven't seen Dad since the previous evening since he has been up since before dawn working in the fields.

'Oh FiFi, how're you today?' My dads blue eyes look into mine, see; one person in my family is considerate and not always breathing down my neck about being moody or 'holding myself back'; he knows that my life sucks and that is why he, and he alone, is allowed to call me Fifi even though I detest the pet name with a burning passion. It's so childish but I'm one of daddy's little girls so I let him off.

'I'm good daddy, but my leg has been playing up and it's just making everything so hard.' My dad frowns at my response, he really sympathises with me and knows that my leg is the cause of most things that go wrong in my life and well I don't know what I'd do without him because everyone else in the house is always so eager to chew me out for being selfish, petulant or just whiny but they don't understand so I don't appreciate their commentary on my behaviour. Dad looks nervous, why is he looking nervous?

'Now Fiona, I understand that the condition of your leg will cause you a bit of trouble I think your being a bit over dramatic; me and your mother have been talking and we think that maybe you should try and be more positive, you talk about your legging constantly holding you back but I think that your holding yourself back now. You're your own worst enemy darling' What? How dare he, him and mom conspiring against me; I love these people, they're my family but they always gang up on me and if that isn't enough on top of everything else that seems to go wrong in my life; It's unfair and I'm pretty pissed off and feel more than a little betrayed. This day is going from bad to worse: I've always said I had the worst possible luck.

'How dare you, none of you understand what it's like at all; so don't try and patronize me, live a day in my shoes and then tell me that I'm my own worst enemy. You'd be singing a different tune if it were you who was the crippled mess; I'm going now and I don't want to see any of you until later.' I storm, well I hobble away fiercely and make sure to slam the door as hard as I possibly can so that they realise I really am peeved at them and how they try to interfere all the time. I hobble away furiously and I realise that I may have over reacted just a tiny bit but I just feel like the outcast in a family of healthy and physically able people; plus I'm a teenager which means I'm more than entitled to the random fit of teenage angst, don't blame me blame my hormones. If my family want me to look on the bright side so bloody much well, I suppose I could say this day can't possible get any worse.

**Aezir Marston, District 9.**

Even though I was let off work early I'm still running a bit late; I was bathing my hands in a concoction of lavender and eucalyptus that my step mother Daysha had concocted when my step sister Arla bursts into the room on the brink of hysteria, she had a nightmare that she had been reaped and no matter how much any of us tried we couldn't console her at all. I had to hastily get into my reaping clothes of a pair of denim trousers and green button up shirt; and you can most likely tell I was rushing, I didn't have time to make myself look as 'presentable' as the Capitol expect but that doesn't mean much really does it: They don't care as long as they have 24 tributes willing to rip one another's throats out at the drop of a hat, or more specifically the ring of a gong. I don't blame Arla for being scared, when I was 13 I was just as petrified; plagued by horrific nightmares where I was killed a multitude of times at the Cornucopia and that is why I decided to train myself as thoroughly as possible for here in District 9. If fate places me in the Hunger Games then I intend to win; I won't give up and I'll make sure my family is proud, I remember Daysha's final words to me before me and Arla departed for the reaping: 'If one of you is picked don't let them see how scared you are; I can only ask you do your best and whatever happens me and your father will be proud. Now off you go, I don't want you two being late; I'll be down at the square as soon as your father is ready.' Daysha may not be my birth mother and hearing her kind words lifts Arla's spirit somewhat and infuses me with confidence. Whatever will be, will be.

We get to the Justice Building in the nick of time; we hastily sign in and head towards our designated areas although she seems reluctant to leave me I turn and pull her into a hug; we may not be siblings by blood but we're as close as any biological siblings, maybe even closer seeing as we're not biologically programmed to like one another.

'Arla, do not show anybody your scared, if you're called be strong. No one can expect any more from you. Do you understand?' She nods her understanding and gives me a quick hug before marching towards the section designated for 13 year old females with her shoulders back and head held high: I'm so proud I forget where I am before rushing up to meet my friends. Mikki, Luka and Darmin are already here and by the way they're looking round I assume they are looking for me.

'Surprise, boys!' I whisper in Mikki's here and he jumps about 5 foot in the air whereas Luka squeals like a little girl and Darmin throws his hand to his chest as though he is about to have a coronary; they might like to make themselves seem as though they are tough and manly I know better, but hey the little wimps are my friends and I'm pretty much brave enough for everyone but I have to laugh at their reactions; it is most possibly the funniest thing I'd seen all day and in no time we've got the banter going.

'You almost gave me a heart attack you idiot'

'I'm going to give you one hell of a beating'

'Make sure to sleep with one eye open mister 'cause I am coming for you'

'What you going to do?' We're just joking around having a good time, I mean laughter is pretty rare in Panem so when you get it you try to prolong it for as long as possible but obviously we've been holding on far too long because Luka is pushed by a Peacekeeper who's appeared from nowhere: It's a warning, shut up or face the consequences later. From then on we maintain a respectful silence as the events of the reaping ceremony unfold. Mayor Maizely performs the 'Treaty of Treason', for the Capitol's benefit of course: any child of reaping age throughout the district's knows that darn document word for word: It is our potential death warrant. Then we move onto the worst part, the selection of the tributes; Hortensia Vinnel slithers onto the stage like the viper we all know her to be; she sneers at the audience and I make sure to sneer right back whether or not she can see me: I mean what gives her the right to look down on us when she is the one who is dyed the most horrid shade of green with silver hair; I mean she looks like a walking pile of mucus.

'Well, I'd say I'm glad to be back in District 9…' And there she goes, every year with the snide remarks; I don't believe in hitting a woman but I can tell that this particular specimen is in dire need of either a good slap or a stern talking to and however crude it sounds I'd be happy to be the one who does it.

'Anyway, on with the reaping: The female tribute is Fiona Harkin' Unfamiliar name, which is good in the one sense that it isn't Arla and I breath a quick sigh of relief. I mean I pity this girl whoever she may be but in all honesty I don't genuinely care: I'd rather see her die whoever she is than someone I actually know or care about. I know it may sound harsh but this is the Hunger Games and they take harsh to a whole new extreme. Why is she taking so long? Don't tell me she tried to do a runner, I mean try and have some dignity if your about to die at least. She emerges from the crowd, tears streaming down her face, biting her thin lips and her fists balled at her sides; at first I would say she has a better chance than most other tributes seeing as she seems well built but then I notice her leg: A cripple, however cruel it sounds this girl is guaranteed death; Cripples don't last long in the games, it is an unspoken truth which is universally acknowledged. Farewell, Miss Harkin. The girl is standing on stage, trying to look fierce and determined with her brow all puckered but it just won't work; everyone will see that leg of hers and automatically know that she is a weak link.

'Well… the show must go on as they say, the male tribute for district 9 this year is: Aezir Marston' Shit! I kind of expected it might happen one day but I didn't think it would be today; oh well, I've ensured to have prepared myself for this to the best of my abilities and if any of the other tributes seem as useless as my district partner; well maybe I do stand a chance. I stand as tall as my 5'8'' frame allows and roll my neck while flexing my biceps: every tribute will know that I'm not a push over, I walk onstage briskly and glare into the cameras; my face is expressionless: No one can see the anxiety which is causing my gut to twist. I remember the advice Daysha gave me this morning as I shake the girls hand; she tries to smile but I just scowl: she'd be a useless ally that leg of hers would hold her back and if I were allied with her; it would hold me back too.

**Fiona 'Finn' Harkin, District 9.**

I cannot act scared, I need to be strong; I cannot lose hope. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm going to die and there is absolutely nothing I can do; I thought my day couldn't get any worse and then look what happened: I got reaped, just my bloody luck isn't it? Send the girl with the crippled leg, honestly: shouldn't disability make me exempt or something? Because the Capitol wants a good show and with this leg I can't give them that at all: The only spectacle I'll be providing is getting slaughtered, most likely by some bloodthirsty career; isn't that just bloody great? I can't even remember saying goodbye to my family; well I remember inklings but I think I went into shock and well it's pretty hard to listen to people when you feel as though your chest is about to explode; but I can guess the kind of stuff they said: 'Don't let your leg hold you back' 'Don't be your own worst enemy' I mean all I wanted was some comfort and hugs and everything: That is not too much to ask for really considering that I'm off to be killed but no they're trying to fill me with bloody hope: I can't win, it's impossible and hope is only useful if you have some conceivable chance of success which I really don't. Well, maybe when I die they will realise that I've always been right when I said that my leg was literally the cause of everything that's ever gone wrong in my life; literally it will be the death of me.

My district partner though is kind of freaking me out; well, he is glaring at me and I am more than a bit scared. I mean he has got some weird aura around him, this boy could kill me pretty easily but I'm not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me scared: I'll be sure to throw him challenging glares and sneers; the way he's been staring me down, I know he doesn't want to be allies so there is nothing to be gained from befriending the boy. If we were at home, I'd say he was handsome and if I didn't have my bum leg I'd probably flirt with him: with his dusky skin and those brown eyes which I imagine could fill with warmth but now they are cold and empty: this boy is ready to kill, and without even blinking he could kill in an instant; it's like he is not human at all and that's what scares me: He is a tribute, prepared to kill and it is more than likely that this boy will be the one to kill me.

'So, how are you feeling?' Okay, maybe I shouldn't have spoken but his reaction surprises me the most; he laughs mirthless laughter and looks at me as if I should institutionalised where he is the one who's projecting some emotionless abyss which is literally filling the whole room. What a complete weirdo, I retract my earlier sentiment that he was handsome because this boy is clearly unstable.

'I'm feeling right as rain, but don't try and butter me up. I won't protect you and there's no chance of us forming an alliance; and in all honesty no one would ally with you. Enjoy death.' Oh my goodness, how snarky? I hobble to my feet and slap him in the face; yes, he could kill me now but right now I'm so angry that I could kick his ass even if I had no legs. I stare into his eyes and he looks shocked: what did he expect? Me to be some pitiful cripple who'd listen to him spouting shit; well this boy needs a reality check because he's got something else coming. I never said I would die without taking down as many other tributes as possible with me, I only said my death was guaranteed and with the mood I'm in Aezir will be one of those that come crashing down with me.

'Right, whatever your name is, don't try me with your smart ass attitude and I'd rather ally with a tracker jacker than you and if our mentors show up tell them I've retired and I'll be back for dinner got it? Or do I need to slap a bit more sense into that fat head of yours?' I hobble out the room, riding high on the adrenaline rush: some jackass trying to intimidate me.

**WHOOOP! Reapings over, and I'm putting them in chronological order; Haha… onto the Pre-Games and everything.**

**REVIEW and vote in my poll.**

**Muchos Love,**

**Lawrence xxxx**


	21. Through A Childs Eyes

**Hellooooooooooooo My Oh-So-Beautiful Readers,**

**Yes, it's been a while hasn't it? But have no fear… Super-fast updates will be happening once more, the reason I've disappeared off the face of the Earth is the beauty of UNIVERSITY EXAMS! Grrr… but now they've gone away so I can focus on writing, and hopefully get everything wrapped up nicely :D **

**This SYOT is actually still open; someone reserved the D8 Male a long time ago and alas they have failed to come through so hey if you're reading…SUBMIT! Thanks :D **

**Blossom Snow, Capitol Citizen.**

Granddaddy calls me his princess, and so does my mommy; they love me and I love them and then we all live happily ever after. People call me an angel, because I have big wings but mommy doesn't like them: when I'm sleeping she cries about it, it's sad that mommy gets so upset. I don't think they are nasty, I think they're nice because I am an Angel and everyone says so.

I am drinking some milk; mommy's friend Artaud is watching me. He cannot talk, his mouth is very poorly but mommy says that 'actions are more powerful than words' I don't know what that means but I like Artaud; he bakes me cookies and listens to me sing and watches me dance because he is my friend, and mommy's friend too. I twirl on the spot like the lady told me to, she said it was a ballet move but I can't say the name: I think it was a piro-something and Artaud claps like he always does, that is why I like Artaud. There is a knock on the door, I go to answer it but Artaud gets there first; it's because he is older, stronger and faster but mommy says that if I eat all of my food and do as I am told that I'll be bigger and faster and stronger and prettier than anyone. That'll be nice.

'Artaud, what a pleasant surprise. Is Rosa here? You can nod your head can't you?' The man in the door looks really confused, he is normal looking. He has no wings and he is not pretty, my mommy is pretty so why would the man want her? Granddaddy says that all the not pretty people live in the districts and they are really nasty, he said the bogey man came from the districts. Is this man the bogey man? Have I been naughty?

I am so scared that I start to cry, big tears come out of my eyes; Mommy says you shouldn't cry in front of people you don't know but this man might try and eat me, or if I've been naughty he might take me to the districts because that's where all the naughty people go and I don't want to go. Artaud scoops me into his arms and strokes my hair like mommy does, Artaud will always protect me because his actions are louder than words. Just like mommy said.

'Oh Blossom, you have grown haven't you? You're a very pretty little girl just like your mother.' The man is smiling at me but I don't want to smile back, he laughs and then mutters something about like mother like daughter; does that mean he thinks I'll grow up and be as pretty as mommy? That's really nice; I give him my biggest smile. The smile that my Granddaddy calls: my 'Angel' smile.

'So you am not the bogey man?' The man pulls a face, it doesn't scare me though he looks what my mommy calls nonplussed or something; if he knows mommy he is nice and probably helps her with her special plans. She won't tell me what they are because I might tell Granddaddy; I think she is planning him a really big party with nice food and everything.

'No, Blossom I am not the bogey man. My name is Plutarch, I'm your mother's friend and I need to find her as soon as possible. Do you know where she is?' The man is smiling at me again but I am bored now, I want to play some more before I have to see granddaddy and go to the party with him. This man is mommy's friend but he is boring, mommy needs a new friend. I wriggle out of Artaud's arms and run over to all my pretty toys: they are pink, just like me. But I am prettier, I don't talk to Plutarch again he is weird because he has no pretty things like a wig or purple skin but I hear him whispering to Artaud. Secrets, that's what they are talking about because you only whisper when you have secrets.

'We've made contact but Rosa will have to negotiate with Coin; the woman is stubborn as hell and I don't think I have the time to deal with her right now. With the Games and everything, on top of that I have so much to do with recruiting other factions. Bloody rebellion.'

Rebellion? I don't know that word. It is a very long word and the Plutarch man swore too; bloody is a naughty word and it means you're very angry. Is this what mommy is planning? Rebellion, it is a weird word I'll have to ask Granddaddy what it means. Is mommy planning a rebellion? Is it like a party? Will mommy let me come to the rebellion?

After the Plutarch man goes off, Artaud comes back and gives me some milk and cookies; I think they are really tasty and I want more but Artaud said no. That isn't nice, I'm going to tell my granddaddy on him for being naughty and he will tell him off. I pout and sulk but he won't give me any cookies.

'You am nasty Artie, granddaddy will tell you off for being nasty to me.' I stomp my foot and my face feels hot when I get angry and I think I am going to cry; granddaddy gets angry when I cry so Artaud will be in more trouble now and I don't care.

'Blossom Fortuna Snow, what have I told you about telling your grandfather things? He is much too busy to be worried about when Artaud doesn't give you cookies, now apologise to Artie now or else I'll take your toys away.' I spin around, and almost fall over because of my wings and run over to mommy, she is really pretty; even prettier than me but that's ok. I love mommy, but she tells me off; but only so that I'm good for everybody and so that everybody likes me.

'Sorry Artie, want to play dollies with me?' Mommy smiles again, but she looks sleepy I wonder what made her sleepy? Actually I am tired too, I do a big yawn and put my thumb in my mouth like I do whenever I get tired.

'Naptime?' Mommy smiles and scoops me into her arms; it's nice when mommy hugs me because she is really busy at the moment with that… what was the word the Plutarch man said?

**Rosalinde Snow, Capitol Citizen**

I put Blossom to bed, making sure to wrap her up warm in her silk duvet. She looks like an angel when she is sleeping; and she doesn't need wings to be the angel I know she is. I trail back into the lounge and pull myself onto a chaise, everything is seeming to go to plan and although there is no definitive timeline to the plan I can finally rest knowing that sooner or later my father's tyrannical reign will come to an end. Revolution is in the air, and I can taste the freedom; Blossom's freedom to grow up as whomever she sees fit to be. I have spoken to many of the Victors who have arrived and although there are still some to arrive I am more than happy with the response to my proposition, many people share my beliefs that Panem needs to change and they are more than happy to stand at my side and ensures that this change comes to fruition. Soon a spark will ignite, that spark will grow into a blazing inferno that will consume the whole of Panem, and well the ash falls: a new Panem will rise like a phoenix.

Now, the next thing on my agenda is to meet with the elusive Alma Coin; I have never met her although I hear she has a reputation for being a fearsome leader and she whole heartedly resents my father but this is a thing we have in common so maybe the negotiations will not be as aggressive as Plutarch seems to think: The only conflict I anticipate is that she'll question my demands as to whom will be given the honour of wiping my father from the face of the Earth. I will request that I am the one sent to meet the President of District 13 all in maintaining the 'presidential presence' to appease my father. They say my father is cunning and devious like a snake; well I am the mongoose to his snake and fortunately I'm just as devious but my intentions are good.

In the end it is all for Blossom, she is all I have and it will be a rocky ride but a rebellion waits at the end of this tunnel and Rosalinde Snow will be a figurehead; My father doesn't love me so he underestimates how far I'll go to protect Blossom from him, the snake is supposedly one of the most intelligent animals but if my father truly were a snake that cannot be true for his made the amateur mistake of undermining the potency of a mother's love. Or maybe he is too arrogant in his belief that I have some sense of familial loyalty that will prevent me ever crossing him; either way these assumptions of his will be what brings him down. How can he expect me to even tolerate him, never mind love him, for what he did to me? How can I ever call him my family after that atrocity? I think of my baby Blossom and the pain is so much worse, she'll never know; she can never know because it will destroy her as it has me. I may be a trapped songbird but one tune I never play is that of my tears but right now I succumb to the raw pain, the grief and let it consume me. The tears will fall freely tonight.

**Bit of a naff chapter. I wanted to kind of lay some foundations for what is to come later; Rosalinde has changed! A lot more aggressive and in all honesty pretty BADASS and it only gets better ;) Don't worry though, she isn't always so mad.**

**Now Blossoms POV? Yay or Nay? It's hard to write like a child and I tried to get into the mindset but alas it has been a long time since I was a child! Anyways I'll probably update again later today and we'll be back with the tributes I just wanted to reward my readers ASAP so I whipped this up real quick! **

**REVIEW! Or else… ¬¬ **

**xxx**


	22. A Mothers Love

**Since the story has received such a great response by the reading audience, so here is a little present :D The reaping of Ginna Wallace. Thanks for the reviews, and thanks to everyone who has submitted a tribute: You are AWESOME! But now for the chapter…**

**Virginia 'Ginna' Wallace, District 10**

Ugly, a word that would describe me. Although the alcoholic who calls herself my mother would favour phrases like: 'Useless lump' or 'He-she'. You will never know the feeling; to have someone who is biologically programmed to love you address you in such a demeaning way. Ugly, the word which describes me. I look at myself, long and hard, and although I detest the fact I can see my mother is accurate in her summary of me: I am not the dainty, feminine daughter that women crave. I am masculine; with my 5'11'' frame I am taller than most of the young men here in District 10 and my limbs are lined with thick muscles which make me stronger than a majority of them too. In school we learnt of ancient cultures, the Amazonian women; from what I've read it seems I was born in the wrong time. For with my 'impressive' physique I would have fit in amongst their ranks. Belonged, I may have actually belonged.

It sounds as if I am the person who hates their life, despises themselves; but this is not the case. I have a loving family, the only exception being my estranged mother; I have a job, a life and I enjoy each day as it dawns but I know that once upon a time my life was better. Once upon a time I had it all, the idyllic family life: My father worked on the local ranch training horses, his eyes alight as he talked about the animals he worked with; a passion which has been passed to myself; A dainty mother who would dance around the house performing the duties that made her a domestic Goddess; My twin brother, Viridian, the person who knows me better than myself and my 3 little sisters, the cherubs who brought everyone joy, pride and happiness. As children, we were the apples of my father's eye, but 2 years ago the apples became rotten; the idyllic illusion was shattered. A plague came to my family in the dead of night, tearing away our happiness, our normality, our everything. This plague has a name: Cancer. Two years ago we lost our father, he was never to return again but we also lost our mother; She became a mere shadow of the woman she once was, a plague in her own right. We lost our mother to alcohol; her days are now consumed with drinking, hurling abuse at us all and mourning the loss of what she once had, what we all had. For two years I have been the mother of the household: raising my 3 baby sisters Romany, Carter and Loretta alongside my chivalrous brother; earning the wage that feeds the family by working on the ranch; healing the cuts and bruises of my siblings. I say I do not hate my life, the truth is I cannot: I have no life.

' Ginna' I hear the panicked cry of my youngest sister Loretta, at 6 years of age she truly has a powerful set of lungs seeing as I have to cover my ears to drown out her scream. My mind is then thrown into over drive, racing at a million miles an hour: Is she hurt? What will happen if she awakes mother? Are the others in danger? Questions swim into the forefront of my mind as I run down the stairs in search of my sisters. I find her sobbing at the foot of the stairs her tiny shoulders heaving with sobs and my heart breaks; seeing those you love in pain, no matter how small, is truly torture. I wrap my arms around her petite frame and lift her so her head is placed in the nook of my neck, I coo at her softly:

'Baby, it'll be okay; everything is fine. Ginna's here now, no one can hurt you' I continue with my tender endearments until her sobs have subsided; she is such a frail, young girl and needs to be handled delicately. Once she has regained her breath and seems capable of talking I place her back on the floor and crouch down before her;

'Loretta, what's happened? Are you ok?' Genuine concern colours my tone, anything concerning my younger siblings or even Viridian made me drown in worry; it caused my maternal side to burst to life. Loretta smiled up at me.

'Gin, I'm all good now, Roro and Carter were bullying me. Again' oh, well that's better than I expected; Romany and Carter: the ten year old terror twins. I really needed to have a word with them; this bullying business had to end: Will they ever grow up? I doubt this as I take a moment to reminisce about their mischievous antics, like when they let all the sheep run riot through the town. I was so proud that after all the tragedy that has tainted the last two years they still hold onto their childish exuberance, even if it could be a pain at times. Well, I suppose it's time to do some hands on pseudo parenting.

'Romany and Carter Wallace, get here this instant or else there'll be hell to pay' I pay special attention to making my voice sound authoritative and stern, to me I still sound soft and kind but somehow the twins walk into the house heads held down, the picture of innocence and repentance. How could I stay mad? Look at them, standing there all cute. But it is my duty to reprimand them; I take a deep breath before I begin:

'How many times do I have to tell you two? Can you not behave? Look, you made Loretta cry. Your sisters, you're meant to stick together. What ever will I do with you?' I raise my eye, it's meant to show that I am contemplating a punishment but catching my reflection in the window I think I look constipated. I begin to tap my foot on the linoleum floor as if to prompt the twins:

'Loretta, we're so sorry. We never meant to call you a scrawny fowl' it's extremely creepy when Romany and Carter speak in perfect synchronization, bobbing their heads in time with one another; their curly masses of honey blonde hair mimicking their movements. I and Viridian were never like that, so it is not a 'twin thing' as the girls say.

Just then I hear a groan, an all too familiar groan; the groan that tells us mother has awoken from her drunken stupor. I turn to all three girls, an expression of apprehension marring their cherubic faces.

'Girls, go and play outside. I'll deal with this, I'll call you in when everything is okay—'

'But you can't, you don't know what she'll do Gin' Loretta whispers, blatant fear lacing her tone; the twins nod their heads, once again in synchronization to show their agreement. I sigh; these girls are too young to be worrying about me.

'Now listen to me, I will be fine. And remember she is your mother, now go. No arguments' I despise having to be too stern with my sisters, but I will be if it is necessary; and when mother first awakens in her drunken rage it is definitely necessary. I would rather die a hundred deaths than see our pathetic excuse of a mother lay her hands on any of my siblings, and that does include my scatter brained twin. Viridian is bigger than me, but he lacks the emotional strength to deal with her outbursts. I point towards the door to ensure all of my sisters leave before locking the door and going to face my mother.

I sit in the lounge, tears streaming down my face; my mother's insults echoing inside my head: 'Scum' 'You call yourself a woman? Hah'. I needed to be strong; if not for myself than for my siblings, the siblings who have effectively become my children. I move to stand before a mirror, taking notes of the injuries I had obtained as I tried to reason with my mother. A task I know is pointless, but I cannot give up on her no matter how much she may hurt me with her fists and her harsh words; she is grieving and I share that grief, but my patience is waning and soon it will snap. I raise my fingers to my lips, swollen from where my mother had hit me with surprising force; I trace my fingers up to my left eye I feel a cut. Blood oozes down creating a pathway down my face, tears of blood. I navigate my way to the kitchen, opening the cupboard which holds my stash of medicinal herbs. I apply a thin glaze of salve concocted from milkwort and meadow sage, the poultice soothes the pain and causes the bleeding to stop. If mother doesn't change her act soon I'll have to do something about it, this is not a fit environment for the girls and it is my responsibility to ensure that they are raised in a suitable environment. Suddenly Viridian bursts through the front door; out of breath and his appearance dishevelled his blonde hair askew as if he had been running. I spare a thought to wonder where his begin, probably frolicking with that harlot Gissabelle Malone. I tut to myself but he starts to speak, gasping between each word.

'G, what are you still doing, here? The reapings' I had totally forgotten that today was reaping day, and I had the nerve to call him scatter brained.

'Sorry, it slipped my mind' He didn't respond to my stupid excuse for forgetting such an event, instead he came to stand before me fingering the cut I have just attended to;

'Did she do this? G, I'm so sorry. I just can't deal with it, it's still raw. You know Dad's death' He looks down to the floor as if ashamed, and I feel a pain slice through my chest, I pull my brother towards me staring into the large hazel eyes we inherited from our father and comfort him.

'V, do not worry. Everything will be okay eventually; Now go get ready, we better get to these reapings before the peacekeepers take the door off' I smile at him, a smile which he returns before running from the room; I guess to get ready and on that thought I hasten to get ready.

Viridian and I arrive just as the reapings are beginning; we are greeted by Mayor Rhoadan's monotonous delivery of the 'Treaty of Treason'. Viridian makes me laugh by mouthing along perfectly, rolling his eyes as Rhoadan expresses the importance of the games; Of course the Hunger Games, or as Viridian affectionately calls it 'Death Con 5' no one escapes the arena, yes one person leaves with a beating heart. That one person, however, is haunted everyday by the atrocities they see; and the Capitol calls it entertainment, don't make me laugh.

As I head towards the 17 year old female section, my mind begins to wander. What would happen if I were chose to 'compete'? Could I win? Doubtful, district 10 isn't acclaimed for churning out victors; but I'd have to, somehow. If not for myself, but for my siblings: the people that I love. In all honesty, the chances of me being reaped are slim; my name is in there only 5 times. I have never had to sign up for tesserae since I have worked since I was 12 to bring money into the house but it could happen, and if it did; what would I do? As Felicity Cortez, our district escort mounts the stage; she is beautiful, in that Capitolian way, with her flaxen hair styled to perfection and her amethyst eyes surveying the crowd. I turn to find Viridian in the crowd and mouth the words 'good luck' to which he mouths back 'as if I need it'; a childish tradition I admit, but it has worked in making sure neither of us was reaped so far; and who are we to break tradition. Felicity then breaks the silence which has engulfed the gathered crowd, a blanket of tension lies over everybody.

'Hello District 10, and welcome to the 62nd Hunger Games! Now let the Games begin…' On that note she moves towards the bowl situated on the left hand side of the stage and plucks a single slip of pristine white paper; the paper that bears the name of the female who will be forced to fight for her life and that name is:

'Virginia Wallace'

I freeze, shock the predominant emotion. I cannot move. This cannot be happening; I am brought from my reverie as a scream pierces the silence. A scream of pain, anguish and absolute terror; I turn to find the source of such an inhumane sound and see Loretta; she is trying to get to me, as are Romany and Carter. I see the pain etched into their features and their pain is what makes me move towards the stage, for them I must be strong. As I pass the 17 year old male section I catch my brothers eye and nod towards where my sisters are congregated; he nods and begin to move towards them. Good, the girls will need Viridian now more than ever; I climb onto stage and suddenly it's real. It is all a blur from then on, the only thing I remember is finding my siblings in the crowd, seeing their grief. I catch their eyes and mouth two words: 'Stay strong'. The male tribute is called but I cannot focus, my mind is focussed on the hour I will spend in the Justice Building which looms behind me: the destination for what could be my final goodbyes to the only people I have ever, and will ever love.

So here I am, tribute for district 10; waiting in the Justice Building to see who will visit me. My family, for sure but I doubt anybody else will; not that it bothers me in the slightest. I don't know what to say, how can I console them? What can I say? They've already lost so much: Dad to cancer and mom to alcohol. Now, they face losing me, their sister; the one who heals their wounds, the one who hold them as they cry, gives them advice and loves them unconditionally. Words are not enough to describe the pain, the stabbing feeling in my chest. For once I am helpless to help my siblings; I collapse to my knees. It's too much, what can I do? Nothing. Then they come: Viridian, Romany, Carter and Loretta. They look distraught, a physical manifestation of the emotions that are ripping me up inside but I must be strong; for them I am always strong, I plaster a fake smile onto my face.

'So it sucks, right?' Silence.

'Guys, it's no use standing there looking lost; you have to go on, it's as simple as that. No matter what happens you will stick together and stay strong' I'm surprised at how composed I sound, but it's how I have always been: Strong, for them. They look shocked, but nod their heads accordingly then I open my arms and my three younger sisters run into my arms, their tears falling freely. They whisper to me about how much they love me, how I can win and that they'll be waiting for me and at their loving words I feel my heart warm. I then notice Viridian, standing there with a blank expression; it sounds cliché but in this moment I know he knows how I feel; call it twin telepathy if you will. I smile at him and he shakes his head, it is then that I realise he wants to speak to me alone.

'Girls, I want you to go home now. There's nothing more I can say. Do not watch the Games, no matter what. Do you understand?' They nod, and turn to leave but at the last minute Loretta turns back.

'Ginna, please come back promise?' Now I know what people mean when they talk about being heartbroken, seeing her face alight with hope and then having to squash that hope.

'Loretta darling, I cannot make that promise…' My voice breaks and the twins grab Loretta by either side and drag her from the room as they all break down in a fresh round of sobs. I turn to Viridian:

'They'll need you more than ever now, promise me you'll be there no matter what.' He nods and I continue, the words flowing freely now:

'Be strong, for them, for me. And God help me if I come back to find out that you haven't I'll whip you into oblivion Viridian Wallace, let mother know that if she harms a hair on any of your heads I will run right though her with a cattle prod. Understand?' Once again he nods.

'Now go, and remember stay strong' without warning he rushes forward and catches me in his arms.

'Ginna, you can do this. You can, I know it, okay? You are the strongest woman I know. If you can't do this I don't know who can' His words ring with sincerity, but it's useless I will die in this arena and without me my family will be lost. He turns to leave, as he goes I call out; my voice hoarse.

'I love you, I love you all. Never forget that'

'We love you too Ginna, you'll do well to remember that' and then he is gone. I am alone, a death sentence hanging above my head. I have never hated the Capitol or the Hunger Games more than I do in this moment; how dare they. What right do they have to tear my family apart? How dare they.

**A massive thank you to FreeMyMind for Virginia, she wishes me to inform you that Ginna is pronounced Jenna, for future reference. Now see that button saying 'review' press it! Cannot wait to hear your thoughts about the first two tributes. :D**

**Lawrence xxx**

**Right, so I think I think I better write a good old tribute list so that you know which tributes are available:**

**District One, Luxury Items:**

**Male: **Nicoli 'Nikki' Spinoza

**Female: **Ruby Ashford

**District Two, Masonry:**

**Male: **Claude 'Claw' Dew

**Female: **Sandra 'Sandy' Burghardt

**District Three, Technology:**

**Male:**

**Female: **Greer Ballentine

**District Four, Fishing:**

**Male: **Kai Thallasa

**Female: **Bala Eaglehawk

**District Five, Power:**

**Male:**

**Female: **Autumn Thorn

**District Six, Transportation:**

**Male:**

**Female: **Dariela Rorin Malasky

**District Seven, Lumber:**

**Male:**

**Female: **Seraphine 'Sera' Connolly

**District Eight, Textiles:**

**Male: **_Reserved_

**Female:**

**District Nine, Grain:**

**Male: **Aezir Marston

**Female: **Fiona 'Finn' Harkin

**District Ten, Livestock:**

**Male: **_Reserved_

**Female: **Virginia 'Ginna' Wallace

**District Eleven, Agriculture:**

**Male:**

**Female: **_Reserved_

**District Twelve:**

**Male: **

**Female: **Livvya 'Liv' Howell


	23. To Do Anything

**Hey, back with another Reaping Chapter… I'm trying to get through these as quick as possible! It probably won't take long now seeing as I don't have university :) Yay for SUPER long summer holidays… still in the need of a District 8 male, without him I can't finish the Reapings but hey I'll just make one if needs be! **

**So here we are to meet the district partner to Ginna Wallace, Carrick McCall courtesy of OwlMist. He is super cool…well in my opinion :S **

**And thanks to FreeMyMind for Virginia Wallace.**

**Carrick McCall, District 10.**

I am still shell shocked, disorientated and honestly I feel as if I'm about to explode; so many emotions are coursing through my body, it's overwhelming. So much in fact that I feel like I'm stepped into some alternate reality, it's seriously so surreal but the ironic thing is that this is actually a grim reality: I, Carrick McCall, have been drafted into the 62nd Hunger Games as the male tribute of District 10. When you say it like that it sounds so sophisticated but all it means is that within the week I'm going to be thrown into some freaky death battle with 23 other kids; you see everyone sees me as the jokester and that word pretty much sums me up, I can joke about anything: I'm the clown, the funny guy who is cracking jokes left, right and centre because I live for entertaining others; it's my thing. Now the thing with this whole situation is out of my comfort zone: Truthfully I could take the piss out of the whole 'Gladiator' thing because it's just stupid, we're all rational people but having 24 kids fight it out and I think there's no real reason and the fact of the matter is this whole freak show is not a laughing matter.

Now comes the part I'm dreading, I mean it's cool I get to say goodbye to my family because the rumour is that when the Hunger Games first began nobody got to say goodbye; which is pretty messed up seeing that the next time 23 people will see their loved ones is when they come home in a wooden box. See, the reason I'm dreading this part is due to the fact that it will be awkward as hell; I mean for like the past four years I have been raised in a house full of men. We just chill and wrestle in the mud and joke around like we have no care in the world but I know for a fact that this is going to be super emotional and I know it will mess my head up more than when that Felicity Cortez woman with the pink eyes called my name.

I mean I want to leave on a good note, with a light hearted atmosphere: I mean it's what has been the norm, what I enjoy and it's what I call home; but what am I meant to say? 'Hey, I'd like this song at my funeral…Or, I wish I was going down to the party later…Or, maybe get me a beer.' See, this isn't going to be easy and I'm worrying about what to say when I should be trying to think about how I'm going to get out of the damned arena alive. It's such a piss take, I'm 16; I should be thinking about getting drunk without the Peacekeepers noticing, skipping school not embracing my more than likely immanent death. I look around the room, the panelled walls and the pointless furnishings: It's kind of ironic that such a glamorous place is the setting for something as gruesome as 'final goodbyes' but hey it represents the Hunger Games perfectly because the Capitol try and sugar coat such a horrific thing such as an annual event which celebrates the death of 23 kids and the mental deterioration of the one who manages to escape with their life. That was surprisingly insightful for me, now wouldn't Maeve be proud.

I take a few more moments tinkering around the room because I'm curious about how these upper class people live: Down on the ranch you get what you get, simple furniture like a simple like a rickety rocking chair because it's all you can afford as it means you work for what you get and I honestly prefer the simple things in life. I know it would be nice to live in the lap of luxury and I understand why the Capitol love all their little gems and mahogany stuff but I would rather live somewhere where I've earned the things that are around me; if you're handed everything on a plate you never learn the value of hard work, coming from District 10 I have learnt the value of hard work and it's helped me mature in a lot of ways that I'm sure the spoilt brats from the likes of District 1 have never imagined and I'm banking on this maturity and my appreciation of hard work to help me escape that arena intact. I take a few moments to note anything I know that will help me and in all honesty it's not much but I've got to make it work: knot work, some basic knowledge about edible plants and I'm pretty strong but the one thing that will go against me is a reluctance to kill. I abhor the sentiment of running around killing kids for no reason, in self defence I reckon I could do some damage but I'm not overtly violent. I'm the class clown not the class bully and that will never change. Before I end up giving myself an aneurism with over thinking everything the parade of visitors begins and instead of being a brooding cowboy I revert to the Carrick I've always been: Jokester extraordinaire.

'Bro, this truly sucks' Leave it to my goof of a brother Nash to sum up everything I've been thinking in a matter of words, he looks a lot like me: the crystal clear blue eyes and the guns which people fall over themselves for; I mean it's inevitable working on a ranch and not to be packing some serious muscles. But no we're not twins at all; we have our physical differences with him being about a foot taller, and although it pisses me off I am considered petite; he has the same colour hair as me he has grown his into a shaggy style which he swears acts as a 'chick magnet' but hey I don't care I wear my honey blonde hair in a buzz cut, it's convenient and I can't be bothered with the whole styling thing.

The rest of the time with my family is spent on joking around about how I'll be able to have any woman I want when I come back and that I should try and seduce Pepper, the female mentor and although the chat seems pretty pointless it is a great comfort; I may be going to fight for my life but I have a family waiting for me, and even if I do die the world keeps on spinning and the guys of the McCall family keep on laughing and I wouldn't have it any other way. Now don't get me wrong it wasn't all trivial chat about harassing Peacekeepers and sneaking liquor into parties; my family did decide to bestow some wisdom on me and I've taken it to heart. Whereas Nash and my Uncle Avery lightened the mood with their unique brand of comedy, which generally entails stories of drunken debauchery and planning my homecoming party, my father Lyle and cousin Zeno were the ones who decided to take it seriously. Although they are only uncle and nephew they are very alike, a serious perspective on the world and very intelligent: I tried playing both at chess and let's just say that it wasn't pretty at all. My family all leave, after a round of 'manly' hugs and goodbyes and my father is the one remaining.

'Son, I don't want you to promise to come back; that's just words. I want you to try as hard as you can to be the Victor, you can do it. Work hard as I've always taught you and you'll be coming home but remember: These tributes, their cattle and you're the one who has to lead them to the slaughterhouse; don't question yourself and you'll do amazing.' With that he kisses my forehead, and although the gesture does seem pretty weird it means a lot. My dad may not be overly affectionate and seems to lose himself in work but I know that he loves me; now he's gone and I'm stuck pondering his advice. These tributes aren't children anymore but cattle ready for the slaughter? It doesn't sit well but it might be my only chance. Oh, however cliché it sounds I'm torn here; I hate seeing people in pain, I spend more than enough time patching up the animals on the ranch and to go and deliberately inflict pain and more importantly kill someone. It's wrong, immoral and it makes me pretty damn mad which is an achievement seeing as I'm so laid back I'm practically horizontal; which itself poses yet another problem, how am I meant to summon the aggression necessary to kill someone. I need to stop this over thinking, and then she arrives.

Maeve O'Sullivan, the only girl I love, the only girl I talk to and the only girl welcome in the McCall household; well on a permanent basis, for with Nash living their there is always some girl coming and going. We has the typical best friend to romance story, and this bloody reaping has gone and spoiled the happy ending I'd selfishly anticipated; although it makes me sound like some hopeless romantic I love her more than any other man is capable of loving any other woman, and if by some miracle I actually win it'll be Maeve that I come home for and in no time I'll make sure that she becomes Maeve McCall. Although that outcome is unlikely it is a nice fantasy to hold onto, her emerald eyes are swollen and tears are streaming down her face; her skin is blotchy and she is simply radiating devastation. I fold her in my arms and rest my chin atop her head and I really want to hold onto this moment forever; to remember the soft satin that is her skin and her silken locks that are golden in colour, this moment in time will never leave me and I'm glad I get to see her one last time.

'Carrick, I love you. No one will ever replace you, so come back. Don't leave me here alone' Her pleas are heart rendering, and I feel my own tears begin to fall: Well now I've lost any chance of playing the tough man persona but oh well, right now it's just me and the girl I love, the fucking Hunger Games can wait.

'I love you too, and I always will. No matter what, you know that and of course I'll be fighting to come home to you.' We're not necessarily the kind of couple who declare our love like petty teenagers; although we are teenagers we know that the bond we share far surpasses the relationships of a teenage love struck fools but I need to tell her now, because I never know when I'll see her again.

**Pepper Garrington, District 10 Mentor.**

I have chewed my nails so much that my fingers are bleeding profusely; some would say I shouldn't be nervous: I've already won my games and there isn't any chance of me ever entering the arena ever again but those people don't know what it is like to mentor 2 children every year and watch them get butchered like the livestock down at the abattoir. To get to know these kids and then watch from the sidelines, helpless to help them; I'm not the only one who feels like this, Haymitch Abernathy is just the same. He is tormented by the fact that we can't do a thing to help these kids, but unlike him I haven't turned to alcohol; I've turned to something called revolution. These sick games are going to end soon, kids are going to be able to be children rather than live in fear of being reaped and me, and I'll just live a life of peace knowing that I don't have to watch kids die every year. It's not much to ask for and I'm pretty damn tenacious, I set my sights on what I want and I do everything possible and in some circumstances impossible to get what I want. It's how I won the Hunger Games, and I'm pretty damn sure it's how I'll end them too.

I personally think we have a good set of tributes this year; well on first glimpses anyway. They're both built pretty well, well a lot better than I was when I was reaped and I don't know they both seem to have a silent strength and as of now I don't know what it is. But it's most certainly there; call it a woman's initiative if you will. The girl, she's a fighter and I'm pretty sure she'll go in all guns blazing to make sure she gets back to her family and the boy seems to have some motivation too. It's gratifying that I have a set of tributes who seem like they want to come home, they have hope and I know from personal experience that in the arena that hope is the more powerful than any sword you'll find in the cornucopia. But on the other hand at least one will die, I haven't spoken to either of these kids but I feel as though I'm already mourning; I should try and remain detached because getting to know these kids will only result in pain but that's not how I operate, no matter how much it may hurt.

I return to chewing my nails when I hear someone giggling, my hands automatically curl into fists and I know exactly who that bloody voice belongs to; Felicity Cortez, the one woman who I could kill happily. She's always simpering around and giggling and just being damn annoying; to her this is all a joke, I'd love to see what would happen if she was thrown into an arena to fight for her life; this thought puts a smile on my face just as she barrels into the room.

'Pepper, Darling. How are you? Austin has just been telling me all about life here in District 10. Sounds very 'rural'' God help me, if this woman keeps blabbering on in that ridiculous accent I cannot be held responsible in the actions I take to shut her up, permanently. And the jibe about 10 being rural, I'd rather be surrounded by trees and fields than skyscrapers. Bitch.

'Oh yeah, it is rural isn't it?' I am considering that this woman may be mentally handicapped; I think I'm making it pretty obvious that I don't want to talk to her since I've turned my back but she continues to gush. I count to ten before I respond and plaster a big old smile on my face.

'Felicity, where's Austin?' I inquire about my fellow mentor so that he can deal with this annoying woman, he would love to have the piece of trash fawning over him and his bloody ego.

'Speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall come' Austin Mallaroy waltzes into the compartment, cowboy boots and all. He tips his hat at Felicity, and she almost faints at his 'Southern Charm', simply ridiculous but if it gets the woman out of my hair I can't really complain. Felicity flies to his side, attracted like a bee to honey and starts preening him like a bloody cat. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing aloud, Austin is enjoying the attention, his dark green eyes twinkling; he is attractive: 6' with a nice lean build, ebony hair that seems to shine a midnight blue in the sun and cheekbones that even I'd kill for and I'm not vain in the slightest.

'Felicity, you can go now. We need to talk strategy, and well I wouldn't want you to feel dumb when you're unable to understand a thing.' Okay, it was bitchy but hey she's a bitch so it's all good. Austin looks amused as always, I'd hate him if I didn't know that he is as every bit as eager to see the Hunger Games end as I am; Felicity looks affronted and somehow seems to grow a backbone as she glares at me.

'Humph! Well you're just trailer trash Pepper, I mean you're name is ridiculous and you have like loads of split ends. I can go where I like…' I don't really catch the end of her sentence because I have launched at her, calling me trash? I'd rather be trash than some snobby Capitolite bitch; we're a mess of tangled limbs: she's pulling my hair like some schoolgirl as I punch her wherever I can reach. I manage to pin her to the ground and I'm about to punch her square in the face when I hear Austin cough; I look up and standing there looking shocked as hell are my two tributes. Well, I think it's safe to say I made a good first impression?

**Carrick McCall, District 10.**

However strange this sounds, I feel rather comfortable; yes, I'm on a train that is probably taking me to my death but its okay. My mentors seem cool, Austin is laid back and has a good old sense of humour and Pepper gets brownie points seeing that she beat the hell out of Felicity and has saved me endless hours of her babbling on about nothing of importance; they make me feel at home and they don't seem as aloof as I thought they would be; in fact they talk about strategy and they seem to have some sense of faith in me and that means a lot; it's made me feel confident and realise the importance of hitting the ground running in this competition.

Ginna seems like a great girl who under any other circumstances I could envision myself being great friends with, she has a family she cares for like myself and she seems strong, there's no other way to describe her; she's going to be a competitor I know it already, but if I am to win she has to die: It is unjust, how am I meant to kill a girl who has a family? A life just like myself, I can't do this but I don't think she is incapable of killing me if it comes down to it. We're being trained separately as of now, I'm with Austin and he says we'll be devising my strategy in the morning so I better be trying to sleep if I want to be able to contribute tomorrow; I've been gone for a matter of hours and I miss home, because we may not be in the arena yet but the 62nd Hunger Games have already begun.

To try and soothe myself to sleep I lose myself in memories, the memories I want to remember forever: The sound of Nash's throaty chuckle, Zeno's reproachful glare whenever anybody steps out of line, the smell of the green grass and the sound of a breeze whistling through the trees at the ranch; the rush of adrenaline when your riding a horse, the satisfaction of lassoing a cow for the first time and most importantly Maeve. The conversations about our future, the passionate embraces on cold winter nights, lying in the grass and spotting shapes in the clouds…

Tomorrow will come, the Hunger Games will commence but for tonight I am Carrick McCall, a 16 year old boy who lives in District 10; not a tribute in the 62nd Annual Hunger Games. Tonight is a night to dwell on all my happy memories, all of my achievements and all of the people I love; tomorrow I will worry about how to survive, concern myself with the political mess that is the Hunger Games. I wonder what Maeve is doing right now? Nash? Zeno? Dad? Avery? Do they miss me? I fall into a restless sleep as these questions continue to plague me.

**Virginia 'Ginna' Wallace, District 10.**

I hope that Viridian has sorted everything out at home, is Loretta in bed already? Has he made sure that Romany and Carter have had their baths? Has he made sure that they're all fed? Is mother glad I've been sent to the Hunger Games? Has she tried to attack any of my siblings? Has V given her my warning? I cannot concentrate on anything but the welfare of my family, I may be on my way to the Capitol but my heart is back in District 10 with my siblings. It's my duty to care for them and with me being absent I don't know what will transpire; Ideally, I would have a mother capable of caring for her children so that I could focus on my own survival but that isn't the case at all. I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games and I should be focussing on how I can try to survive the whole ordeal but no, I'm more distracted by what's happening at home and resenting the Capitol for everything.

For example, Carrick is a lovely young man; full of dreams, ambition and he has a family and girl that love him. We could be friends but the Capitol has other ideas, instead we're thrown into a tournament where 23 children have to die and I could scream at how sickening it all is; can the Capitol not comprehend that all of the 'tributes' are real people, they have a life, they have emotions but to them we're all just lambs to be slaughtered for their entertainment. I can't do this, kill innocent people; perhaps the careers who volunteer for this and seem to find glory in killing others but what about the kids like me? Like Carrick? Kids who have been drafted into these twisted games against their will. I can't do it.

I've lost my father, it was horrible. I mourned and I felt as though my whole world was crashing down around me and in many cases it was seeing as I had to shoulder so much more responsibility and become a pseudo parent for my siblings; but in all honesty I imagine that it is nothing in comparison to losing a child. I imagine having to see Loretta, Romany, Carter or even Viridian in that arena; to watch them die. I shy away from the thought as it really is a pain I cannot bear to imagine, a pain that I would never wish to inflict onto someone and a pain I would never wanted inflicted upon myself. I am a parent, and I could never forgive the person who snatched away one of my family's lives but what about my family? I can see them all so clearly, the twins nodding their head in eerily perfect synchronization; Loretta beaming at me with her wide blue eyes and then Viridian placing his hand on my shoulder; they want me to win, they'd want me to at least try: they wouldn't judge me for my actions. For once I need to be selfish, I need to win no matter what happens, and if not win at least try because I will never give up on the hope of seeing my family again, just as they will never lose hope in me.

However reluctant I am, I will cut down anybody who stands in my way of returning to the siblings I love so dearly, or I will die trying. Panem, let the games begin…

**So there you go, District 10 is all wrapped up! Ginna and Carrick, your District 10 Tributes for the 62nd Annual Hunger Games.**

**Let me know what you think? Did you like Pepper and Austin? Any front runners you see emerging? Anything… Just let me know, so… REVIEW!**

**Loves Yah, xxx**


	24. Misunderstood

**Heyhey, Back with the District 11 Reapings; I've managed to completely plan out the whole story! I've changed it so many times and now I've managed to finally nail it down… It won't be changing! I refuse to deviate from my plot, I have my bloodbaths ;) It could be anyone…. Could it be one of these tributes we're about to meet?**

**Haha, anyway… Thanks to:**

**Meganlucindaxo for Clorisa Orielle **

**AND**

**Lugpra for Nicholas Potrola **

**Clorisa Orielle, District 11.**

I hum the familiar lullaby, the lilting melody soothes me as I go through the motions of packing the previous days harvest into the stiff cardboard boxes which carry them to the Capitol; my voice grows in volume as I notice I'm alone, my soft voice resonates throughout the packaging room. I pick up the box and move toward the pulley system which would lift it to the platform from which it is placed into the Capitol trains. I strain to lift the weight of the box and I falter sending the box crashing to the floor, assorted fruit and vegetables roll along the floor and I scramble around trying to gather it all back up; I freeze in fear as I hear a loud shout.

'What have you done, you retard girl?' It's a Peacekeeper, and in all honesty his words seem harsh and very inappropriate but who am I to question someone which such authority; who am I as one person to dispute the fact I'm a retard when everybody seems to believe it?

Yes, I am the 'retard' of District 11, criticised for being different; there's something about me which marks me out in comparison to everybody else, not that anyone could tell by simply looking at me; it is not anything physical which determines my inferior status.

To the plain eye I am distinctly average, maybe even considered pretty by some people's standards: I have caramel coloured skin due to my inter-racial heritage, it seems to glow in the heat of the blistering sun which is the norm here in District 11; my broad cheekbones and full lips lend to the idea of me possessing some exotic beauty; I have amber coloured eyes which differentiate me from the brown eyes which are the uniform in my home district and my satin like black hair seems to constantly shine.

I am not beautiful, and there are certain things which make me appear to belong amongst the working population of the agricultural district; like the fact I'm more than lucky to have one full meal a week, it's a miracle if I don't go to bed with pangs of hunger disturbing any chance I have of a peaceful nights sleep. It is blatantly obvious that I live a life of poverty by my emaciated frame, severely underweight for my 5'5'' frame; although some find the image repulsive I am perfectly capable of counting each and every one of my ribs, and my hipbones seem to strain against my silky, russet skin.

So if it's not my physical appearance it must be something deeper, something not superficial in nature; something within me. At first there were rumours I were possessed by a demon; that was the supposed cause of the fits of inconsolable rage, the fact I would black out for hours at time only to remember nothing at all but haunted by some strange sense of guilt as if I have committed some unforgiveable crime. Now everyone just deems me mentally unstable; although the term they find more appropriate for my condition is 'retard', however much it pains me I personally can think of no other term to describe this strange ailment I am afflicted with. Nobody knows the scientific cause of what festers within me, this silent curse has no name but it somehow controls every aspect of my life; it is what has earned me a life of unpopularity, the reputation as the district 'freak'. Clorisa Orielle, District 11's resident retard.

It makes me mad. It honestly does but what am I, a simple 16 year old girl to do? Nothing, I must simply live knowing that everybody else looks down at me as inferior; it is a morbid destiny I have accepted. I keep my gaze averted towards the practical tiled floor, a much braver person would stare into the hateful eyes of the Peacekeeper; some would even contradict the Peacekeeper for insulting them. But that's not me, I don't want to incur the wrath of this man; the Peacekeepers of our district are renowned for their limitless brutality, their cruelty and their desire to cause pain whether it physical or psychological. So I continue to avoid the vicious glare of the Peacekeeper knowing that to object in anyway would be nothing but an invitation for him to beat me senseless or simply kill me and remove the 'retard' from the equation.

'Well, little girl. I know you may struggle to understand this so I'll explain it slowly; your wages are being docked, to pay for your reckless actions. The blatant vandalism, you should be thankful that I'm letting you off so easily' I gnaw on my plump lips, and risk a quick glance toward the man who is currently towering over me; he is leering, daring me to challenge his word. Under any other circumstances I would've just complied but to take my wages is to take food from my family's mouths, and I cannot allow this.

'I-I think that's…u-unfair' The Peacekeeper just stares at me dumbfounded, taking a few seconds to process it but he soon collects his wits; his skin becomes tinged a puce colour and his breathing becomes laboured, consumed by rage his balled fist flies out. The force of his punch sends me flying across the room, I see lights before my eyes as a ringing fills my ears; but before I can regain awareness of my surroundings I feel pain slice through my abdomen forcing me into a ball as he kicks me repeatedly. I begin to hum to myself, to cut myself from the physical world, the unbearable pain as the Peacekeeper sadistically beats me with his feet and balled fists.

'Stop! This instant' the beating ceases and I open my eyes to see nothing but a blinding white light; has it finally happened? Have I died? My joy at finally escaping the brutality of my life in District 11 is cut short when I realise I am still here, my breathing laboured and my muscles screaming in unbearable agony. I look to see my saviour, the person who had called halt to my violent assault; it is a middle aged woman with dark hair and eyes and olive skin. I'd say the woman was around 40 years of age but unlike many of the older people in the district this woman had not wilted, she had not become weak or feeble; in fact she looks strong, formidable: An avenging Goddess, her eyes burning into the perpetrator of my beating; radiating a rage unlike anything I'd seen before, yet she kept throwing furtive glances at me and in those fleeting moment her eyes soften; appearing almost caring.

'I am doing my duty as a Peacekeeper; this criminal has damaged goods before their shipment to the Capitol, so I urge you to leave before you are also brought under scrutiny regarding the laws of Panem, for aiding and abetting criminal activity' the Peacekeeper's voice is a menacing hiss, a clear threat to the middle aged woman but she looks anything but intimidated; in fact she laughs and crosses her muscled arms across her chest, a clear signal of challenge.

'Well young man, I think you'd have a hard time trying to 'scrutinize' me because firstly you do not scare me at all so you can stop with trying to threaten me and secondly, the Capitol do not take well to their Victor's being shown in anything but a positive light. So think about this, you try and punish me and the fate which awaits you would be ten times worse than anything you could do to me.' Victor? This woman must have won the Hunger Games at some point. Amazing. The Peacekeeper looks abashed and is walking towards the exit as if to escape, a dog with his tail clearly between his legs; I cannot help but smile at how he has been taken down a peg or two, the Victor notices and smiles before winking in my direction. As soon as the Peacekeeper is near the exit, he turns and darts from the building.

'Well, he was definitely a funny onion wasn't he?' The woman chuckles at her own joke, she extends her hand as if to help me up; why would she do that? Why would anybody stick up for me, I am the outcast; but the woman's smile seems genuine, her large brown eyes twinkle with a grandmotherly affection yet I hesitate. The woman's mouth curls downward in a frown and her forehead wrinkles in confusion, this woman was kind enough to help me and here I am; ignoring her help and most likely insulting her kindness, in an attempt to rectify this mistake I extend my hand, accepting her kind offer for help. She pulls me to my feet, I instantly wrap my thin arms around my waist as if to try and lessen the pain.

'Did he hurt you, young lady?' I just shake my head, it is painful but in all honesty I've had worse; to try and appease the elder woman I arrange my features into a pleasant smile, it's no use for the older woman to worry about me but she still trails her eyes up and down my body to look for any injuries. Apparently pleased that none of injuries are causes for greater concern she smiles warmly at me.

'Well, the name's Seeder. And you are?' I'm weary about answering seeing that people only ever speak to me if it is to insult me, the only exception being my family; but this woman has shown no intention of being cruel, in fact she has been nothing but kind and in that moment I make a decision to trust the woman.

'Clorisa Orielle, but call me Clo. Thank you for earlier' my voice escapes as a musical whisper. It is a poor expression of my gratitude, but my lack of social interaction outside the cocoon of my family has left me rather awkward when it comes to circumstances like these; I have no idea as to what to say so I simply stand there, humming the simple four note tune which is used within the orchards to signal the end of the working day to try and fill the awkward silence.

'Well Clo, I'd better be going. I have a long head of me today, with the reapings and such so I'll leave you to your business; Have a good day and may the odds be ever in your favour' She imitated our infamous district escort when she repeated the Hunger Games slogan: May the odds be ever in your favour. She turns and walks away, what a surreal experience; I stand there for a second to ensure this even really did happen, someone had shown me kindness; been genuinely pleasant to the 'retard' and I just smile at the revelation that not all of the people in the world are essentially cruel. Another thing she said pops to mind, it's reaping day and as if to emphasize this I hear the shrill siren which echoes throughout the whole of the district; the signal that the reapings are to begin shortly and with that thought I rush from the room, towards home.

**Nicholas Potrola, District 11.**

I slide the sizzling bacon onto the plate, and then the scrambled eggs; I glance around the kitchen to see my sister is nowhere in sight. I sigh, I'd already called the little minx downstairs five times and she really needs to start listening to me. I head to the door way and call up the stairs in what I think to be a menacing voice.

'Celeste Potrola, get down these stairs now. I won't ask again' my shout is rewarded with a loud huff from the top of the stairs and then a series of loud thuds as my sister storms down the stairs, over dramatically of course. She's only 11 years old but she is already a feisty one, I genuinely pity the poor man who becomes her husband; I love my little sister more than anything in the world but the truth of the matter is that she is extremely high maintenance.

'Nic, why did you wake me up? its soooo early' Celeste rubs her glittering blue eyes as if she is tired but this is only for dramatic affect, I know for a fact that she was dancing around her room for the last half an hour but I make the smart decision not to rile her; she may be tiny but if I were to irk her somehow I know she would extract some form of revenge, and I know it won't be nice for me at all.

'Sorry, but we have a busy day ahead of us Celeste, if it were any other day you know I'd let you sleep in, God knows you need some beauty sleep' she struts over and smacks me across the arm before seating herself at the wooden table and cutting into her bacon, she would of usually chewed me out for my little jibe but seeing as it is reaping day she lets it slide. Although my chances are odds are technically in my favour I have never been able to rid myself of the nagging thought that I could be selected as a tribute, Celeste; being the closest person to me is well aware of these thoughts and just leaves me to wallow in my sombre thoughts, knowing it's useless to try and cheer me up on a day where two children are snatched from their homes and forced into some gladiatorial tournament.

I sit at the table, as we're eating breakfast we just sit in silence; it's a companionable silence, not awkward at all but I find myself craving the familial camaraderie that I see in other houses as I walk to school every morning; I want the doting mother and the cheeky chap of a father but I know that little wish of mine will never come true. See, I have no rite to moan about my life; my family is one of the lucky few within the district viewed as 'economically prosperous' or that's how father refers to our family unit, we get to go to bed with full stomachs, we get to eat candy and we get to wear the finest clothes which District 11 has to offer. Most people, particularly the poorer people are jealous of us, we want for nothing; living in the lap of luxury seeing as both of our parents are employed as personal advisors to Mayor Hucatta.

The ironic thing within this whole situation is that they shouldn't be the jealous party; yes, materially we have everything we could possibly need but they have something that I desperately want: a loving family; they may starve and face adversity but I'd rather do that knowing that I have a loving family with me every step of the way rather than how I live; I am practically running a household and raising my younger sister while my parents cast themselves in the role of the absentee parents. I think that Celeste must sense my rapidly deteriorating mood as she nudges me in the ribs with her elbow, flashing me a blinding smile.

'So Nic, what we gotta do today?' Ha, my younger sister is great at pulling me from my sullen moods, it must be her vibrant youth; but most likely it's because she wouldn't tolerate me being a 'moody teenager' and I know better then to test her patience, especially in the morning.

'Well, I have a few errands for you to do; it's reaping day so I'll be cooking us something special. Plus I have to get ready and I don't want a snot faced kid getting under my feet' I lean to ruffle her hair and wink, showing her I'm only jesting but she huffs none the less and slaps my hand away. I take our dishes to the sink and begin to scrub them clean while I reel off a list of jobs I need her to do. Celeste waltzes over to the door but she stops and turns back.

'Nic?' Her expression is worrying me, she is chewing her lip nervously and twiddling her thumbs; I don't like seeing her get like this, it means she wants to talk about something serious; genuinely serious, not child rated. I sigh and then walk over and scoop her petite frame into my arms.

'What's up kid?' I smile lovingly down at my sister, the only real family I have; it's my job as the big brother to protect her and make whatever's worrying her disappear, a job I'm more than willing to do. No 11 year old should have to worry about anything; in Panem, childhood and innocence are rare commodities but they're commodities I will do anything to make sure Celeste gets.

'What happens if you get reaped?' This is a difficult question, admittedly I could get reaped; I may only have 6 slips in the reaping bowl but it doesn't make me exempt from being picked, last year in District 8 the Mayor's son had been reaped. I hate that my sister's young mind is plagued with such adult thoughts, she shouldn't have to think about such things but the damn Hunger Games have stolen her pure thoughts and replaced them with these thoughts of life and death. It gets ten time's worse next year when Celeste herself is eligible for the reaping; I exhale and then place Celeste back on her feet.

'Well if it does happen, you have to realise that life goes on and not go around moping for me; I'll do whatever it takes to come home but in the meantime you'll have to go and stay with the McElroy's and when I get back it'll be me and you again; living in one of the massive mansions in the Victor's Village. Does that answer your question?' She simply nods and throws her arms around my waist and I pull her close; it will always be my job to erase her worries and every word I said is true, if by some chance I am reaped I will do whatever I must to ensure that I come home to my little sister.

'Nic, it's you and me forever' and on that note my sister jumps to kiss me on the cheek, flying from the house like a bullet to go and do her jobs; I stand there for a moment, thinking of what my sister just said: It really is just the two of us, well and the McElroy's but essentially I'm all my sister has and I will never let myself be taken away from her. It would be totally irresponsible for me to leave her alone; nobody deserves that especially if they're only 11.

By the time I've gotten into my reaping clothes Celeste still hasn't returned but it doesn't worry me too much, knowing my little sister she's bumped into someone she knows and she's chatting the day away but she had better be hurrying home soon since the clock on the mantelpiece is saying that the reapings are to commence in just over an hour, and we still have to go and meet Carrick. I look at myself in the mirror, although my parents are rarely home they will be at the ceremony with the Mayor so I had better make sure I look like the 'young gentleman' they expect me to be. My black dress shirt and trousers are made from a soft cotton, most likely from the cotton plants harvested in District 9, I take a long hard look at myself: The pale skin that singles me out from the darker skinned people of my district, the dark blue eyes and the chestnut hair styled into casual disarray; my face is narrow and my nose is very slender giving me an almost feline appearance and my limbs are lined with wiry muscles: I look like a fierce feline and I cannot help but be infused with confidence that if I were reaped I would actually stand a chance.

My internal monologue is disturbed as Celeste breezes into the room, almost simultaneously with the shrill alarm signalling that the reaping ceremony is almost upon us, I quirk my eyebrow at Celeste as if to ask for an explanation but she is suddenly interested in her nails and quite blatantly ignoring me; if she's this bad now I am dreading when she becomes a teenager: Celeste and hormones makes one hell of a time bomb I'm guessing.

'Well when you stop ignoring me would you care to enlighten me as to where you've been?' she just rolls her eyes, as she always does when I border on father territory with my questions, sometimes I have to restrain myself from telling her I may as well be her father seeing as he is hardly ever around but I don't really want her to become as bitter as myself.

'Okay, I'm sorry. I was dawdling and I bumped into that kind lady who drops off the oranges, well she's just had a baby, she's so cute with massive brown eyes, a total cherub. Called her Rue, you know like the mountain flower? And well we got chatting and I ended up giving her some coins to get something for the baby, she tried to say no but you know.' This is why I love Celeste, she can be temperamental and strike the fear of God into most people, but she truly does have a heart of gold; she'd rather share our wealth than just let it accumulate.

'That's very nice of you sis, but we'd better be off seeing as we've got to grab Carrick on the way.' She just nods and so we're off; as we make our way into the town centre I spot my friend Carrick McElroy, with his goofy grin and dark skin he seems to be my polar opposite in both looks in personality: I'm pale and his dark skinned, I'm rather serious and he has a devil may care attitude in regard to everything, the list is endless but he is the only person ever to be invited into mine and Celeste's little circle; both me and my sister class him as our brother and his parents, Giles and Aneeta, are our adopted parents who gives the parental affection our own parents are too busy to dispense. They've figuratively taken us under their wing and class us as their own children; they are a gift from God. Celeste and I are extremely lucky to have such wonderful people's lives intertwined with our own.

'C, Nic; where've you been? Oh, and Mam says you two are at ours for dinner, no objections either Nic, Mam said she'll have you with the mallet if you don't show up. And between us, well it's that special time of the month' honestly, I sometimes wonder how we ever became friends, he says the most inappropriate things and in front of my younger sister; but without such inappropriateness he wouldn't be Carrick and however much I try to deny it: I wouldn't change my doofus of a best friend for anything in the world. We chat amiably as we head towards the Justice Building, and in no time we're in our designated area for 16 year olds and Celeste has gone to stand with the McElroy's.

Mayor Hucatta has just wrapped up his speech about the 'Treaty of Treason', the same as every year and Carrick decided to mouth along the whole time; the one thing about reaping day is that at least it is predictable unlike the rest of the games because just on cue our District escort bursts onto stage in a flurry of colour and overly flamboyant hand gestures. Talus Mortemere is inhumanly skinny and is dyed all the colours of the rainbow quite literally and he wears a wig that seems to alternate between the colours of the rainbow; he is literally so bright and bouncy that when he speaks your jaw hits the flaw: his voice is incredibly deep and he makes everything sound incredibly solemn when you're expecting a shrill squeak.

'Welcome District 11 to the reaping ceremony for the 62nd Annual Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour' I roll my eyes at this, although I'm not essentially a fan of the games I just wish he'd cut all the formalities and just get to the point: choosing the two poor souls who are to be thrown into a gladiator arena because every second is torture; the anticipation of who will be sent to their death. Will it be your neighbour? Your best friend? I sneak a glance at Carrick and he is simply staring ahead, appearing aloof.

'As tradition dictates we begin with the female tribute… Clorisa Orielle' I see a girl walk out of the 16 year old section and make her way onto the stage, she stares blankly into the crowd; appearing as the picture of serenity with a lazy smile on her face. I hear sniggers from the crowd, hushed whispers and I get the general impression that she isn't well liked by the townspeople. I cannot fathom as to why, she's very beautiful: with caramel coloured skin and hair that falls like a curtain of ebony satin; she's very skinny but there seems to be some sort of subtle strength about the girl, something enigmatic. Something incredibly alluring. As I continue to stare at the beautiful girl I almost miss the male tribute being called, until I hear Carrick's sharp intake of breath.

'Nicholas Potrola' that's me.

**Seeder Fernwright, District 11 Mentor.**

I snatch the bottle from Chaff's hand, he won his games 10 years ago and since then his been drinking quite a lot; I swear he thinks I'm his mother, I do his cleaning and I do his cooking. The little rascal will most likely be the death of me but I kind of like it; getting to be all maternal, even if he is a grown man. I never got to have children of my own and that's what makes the Hunger Games worse: every year it feels as though I'm sending two of my children to that blasted arena and at least one is guaranteed death.

'Oh lighten up Seeder, your always being bossy; just relax, have a drink' He smiles at me, a big toothy grin and an answering smile blossoms onto my face; as I said this childish moron will be the death of me. I still shake my head though, however much he'd like to sit around playing silly buggers he needs to realise we have a job to do.

'Chaff Lemmingway, you are starting to test my patience and God above, if you cannot act you age I'll make you wear a bib and a nappy. From now on if you continue to act like a child I will bloody treat you like one' He pouts at me and tries to bat his eyes like a puppy dog, but after 10 years I've grown immune to Chaff's charm and in all honesty he looks ridiculous; a 6 foot man with bulging muscles attempting to win over an old woman like myself with puppy dog eyes is really a sight to see. I laugh and his throaty chuckle joins me.

'So, Seeder baby: what you think of the tributes?' I smile fondly at Chaff, he is a menacing man but has a heart as big as his biceps; he wants to help them in any way he can and he does take his job as mentor very seriously. That's why I do allow him to indulge in a drink every now and then, because I know he will have his head in the game when he needs to. Unlike poor Haymitch, that man has really lost his way and who can blame him; he's pretty much alone in this world and that's why I encourage Chaff's relationship with him: you can never have enough friends.

'Well, I already know the girl, helped her get out of a tight spot with some Peacekeeper fellow this morning, he was a nasty brat but she seems sweet enough and the boy has a good build; from one of the richer families I assume. Can't tell much from just looking at them but I think we should try and encourage an alliance' Chaff is nodding his head, a thoughtful look marring his features and then he turn to me a smile on his lips.

'You only want them to ally so you can spend time with me right Seeder?' I give a short bark of laughter which is cut short when he cups my face with his one remaining hand and plants a sloppy kiss right onto my lips; I am shocked, how inappropriate? I smack his hand away and give him a withering look.

'Try that again Chaff and I will take your other arm, now time to get serious. Or is that beyond your capabilities? I think maybe I should mentor alone if your not up to the job and…' I am cut short by the tears pooling in his eyes and I pull the mountain of a man into my arms; I went too far, he only ever wanted to be the best mentor he possibly could.

'Sorry Chaff, I was out of order. You'll do great as always' He smiles and then arranges his face into an expressionless mask as we near the train; Ha, I think I know what approach we're going for: Good cop, bad cop and Chaff always likes to be Bad cop, but he's pretty good at it. I link my arm through his and we're off to meet our tributes and hopefully bring one of them back home.

**Celeste Potrola, District 11.**

My brother will come back; he promised he would and in all honesty I think he will win: He's the strongest, fastest, smartest and best person I know. He's coming home, no matter what people's pitying looks say; we're going to live in the Victor's Village, we're going to be happy. He'll get to come home, get married and have children of his own like that little Rue girl I saw today.

My brother will come back, he must come back. What would I do without my brother? He does everything for me: he sings me to sleep when I have nightmares, he puts up with my mood swings, he cooks and cleans, he helps me with my homework and he loves me. I'm his sister; effectively his daughter and we're best friends. What would one do without the other? It always has, and always will be Nicholas and Celeste: together forever. He is the one person I can rely on, and right now I'm relying on him to win. To come back, to be my big brother.

It's just so unfair, it's so wrong. I'm 11 years old and even I can see that things need to change; but first I just want my brother back home, safe and sound.

**Whooo...Long chapter, written in one night! Now, remember to review and such...and to submit some tributes for my upcoming elaboration; I need to know where you'd like me to go? To District 10? 5? 2? or 12? Cause I have to write the whole reapings for 8 and 9 so they'll have to wait. I plan to upload another chapter soon since I'm not at Uni the rest of this week!**

**Oh so now food for thought time:  
><strong>

**What is Clorisa's disease?  
><strong>

**Oh and don't worry about missing the strategy, Clo's family or the goodbyes...They'll pop up later in the story!  
><strong>

**Muchos love readers, Now... REVIEW!  
><strong>


	25. On My Orders

**Guys, new chapter...YAY! No, this is the reapings of District 12 or more specifically the girl of district 12; we'll be hearing from Effie, Haymitch, and potentially some others :D I seriously like the idea of seeing reapings from these different perspectives. So here we go...**

**Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.**

I glance out as the landscape float past as the Capitol train flies through the length of Panem at speeds surpassing 200mph, our destination: District 12. It is truly amazing what the Capitol can do. I've heard about the horrors that are found out here in the districts of our beloved Panem, the horrific crime rates, the intellectually challenged inhabitants. Back home in the Capitol, I am safe but now I am escaping the safety blanket of the Capitol with all its luxuries: The fine mahogany frames of our furniture, the gourmet food and the jewels; every little detail is pivotal to everyday life, the Capitol epitomizes glamour and orderliness: the two most important factors in my life.

I will miss home; my chic apartment with the platinum door knobs and the doors inlaid with the finest diamonds that district 1 has to offer. I am only here in the Mining district for one day: but every moment spent away from the Capitol is a moment I face grave danger at the hands of the district, the misguided rebels who wish to bring forth the 'Dark Days' yet again. I allow myself a small prayer of thanks to our government, the blessed people who brought the 'Treaty of Treason' into existence, The Hunger Games are pivotal to reminding the districts that any attempt to bring down the Capitol, the back bone of all that resides here in Panem. Without the Capitol there would be nothing. No structure, no order: oh I draw my perfectly manicured hand to my chest, the thought is simply unthinkable.

I allow myself a moment to deviate from my schedule, all of which has been constructed to ensure that this day runs as smoothly as possible, to think about what the consequences would be of another rebellion: life as I know it would cease to exist, there would be anarchy, any form of culture and etiquette would vanish and it frightens me. It simply cannot happen; and thank you to the genius of the great President Herten and his brilliant creation that is The Hunger Games, thanks to him the 'Dark Days' will never return.

The train rolls into the sight and I am simply flabbergasted, this place is horrific, I don't know if I can even call it a 'place' it is more of a hovel. Where is the colour? The cars? The life? I am such a brave woman, allowing myself to be here of all places. But the training I received has fallen short in preparing my for the sight I am faced with, but I will persist: I, Effie Trinket, am an ambassador for the Capitol, I must symbolise all that what the Capitol represents; beauty, class and utmost decorum. I take one last glance at the train carriage, a memento of life at home with the lavish furnishings, the crystal chandelier before I leave to enter the unknown; I would love to stay in the carriage all day until we depart back for the Capitol but that desire is irrational. I have a duty today, a duty to the Capitol, a duty I signed up for when I became an escort.

I exit onto the platform at 10.30, with the reapings beginning at 2 o'clock that gives me 3 and a half hours in order to over see the construction of the stage, to meet with the camera crews and to introduce myself to Haymitch Abernathy: the only surviving victor who hails from district 12, and Panem renowned alcoholic. Well, he is about to meet Effie Trinket and I will not allow him to disrupt my well thought out schedule: efficiency is my greatest strength and no lowly slob who drowns their sorrows in alcohol is ever going to change that. In fact where is he? I sent word I would be arriving at 10.30 exactly as my schedule said and he is not here, where is he?

I stand there waiting for 12 minutes, which is 720 seconds; there is never an excuse for such tardiness, it is simply awful manners. Today is a big day; a big, big day. Where is he? I look around at my entourage expecting them to answer my unspoken question; they all stare back at me, confusion written across all of their faces. Oh goodness, it is my first year and I can already see that everything is going wrong, Abernathy's blatant disregard for punctuality has thrown my carefully crafted schedule, a schedule specifically designed to make sure today ran as smoothly possible, into disaster. What am I to do? Spontaneity is a sign of being unprepared, and I am nothing but prepared.

Effie Trinket, I will sort this disaster out. I will be renowned as the finest escort Panem has ever known; the reapings will be a big success, and I will move onto bigger and better things: escorting for district 1 or 2, the elite. There is no way that I will become the laughing stock of the Capitol because of some stupid little man. Haymitch Abernathy, prepare yourself, for you are about to go toe-to-toe with Effie Trinket and you will never rain on her parade. But first, to make myself look absolutely stunning, one must always look flawless for the cameras.

'Stylists, we're having a change of plan. But don't worry, everything will be fine. Today is going to be a big, big day and I know, on our presidents word, that today the odds are ever in our favour'

**Haymitch Abernathy, District 12 Mentor.**

Screams, guttural cries of fear and the squealing sound of metal against metal provide the overture of my nightmares yet again. Nightmares that come every night, visions that have haunted me for every night for 12 years, the axe imbedding itself in the head of Emerald Fortescue, the district 1 tribute: my final obstacle in escaping with my life. The 47 tributes that lost their life. 12 years ago, back in the Quarter Quell.

A question I have tried in years to answer, but the answer eludes me. Pain, grief and every other negative emotion blurs as I see her die, the sharpened beak of the mutt tearing through her neck; the crimson blood bursting for where her jugular had been slashed; I hear her final breaths in my head, pants as she departs this world: deserting me and leaving me alone. Haymitch Abernathy the consummate loner, alone in this world.

My new companion is the only thing that makes it all go away, numbs the pain and allows me to live with any sense of normalcy, the antidote to the poison that is watching 2 people I train perish in the arena. Alcohol, an angel in disguise. I rouse from my restless slumber, the knife still tightly gripped in my right hand; I stand, gently swaying and my vision blurring. Okay, the alcohol has some bad side effects: the throbbing headache, the general nausea but I take these for they are better than the alternative; the realisation I am alone in this world and what for? Another question without an answer. The alcohol keeps the visions at bay, the sights of such horrors that invade my mind reminding me of the horrors I have witnessed.

I reach for the bottle on the table where I had spent the evening slumped over; I knock back the dregs, the bitter taste isn't the most appetising but I drain the bottle waiting for the moment of bliss, when I black out, ignore the world, ignore the pain. I go to the cupboard to grab another bottle of the white liquor and look down at my clothes, stained by sick, dirt and the disgusting smell of body odour permeates the room. Me, a Victor? Ha, I'm meant to look immaculate, live in luxury and be proud of the fact that I have proven myself as a worthy winner of the Hunger Games. I am not a victor as all, I have lost everything and my outward appearance is testament to that fact, haggard and repulsive; a reflection that I am broken on the inside.

I trail my eyes throughout my home, broken bottles and unfinished meals litter the floor, the smell of rotten food evident; a thick layer of dust graces the surfaces and the flickering light throwing shadows against the walls. This house is representative of my life, I see that but to anyone else I know all they see is a haggard tramp who has squandered his fortune on booze; I suppose in a sense they are right. I look towards the phone, ripped rather ungracefully from the wall in a fit of drunken rage: can they Capitol not realise I just want to be left alone, to lick my wounds like the beaten dog that I am.

The silence is broken by a series of raps against my door, who is that, who would be knocking my door down? People know that I am to be left alone, if I craved company I'd bloody well go into town; the only time I go to town is to get some liquor from the Hob, the black market of district 12.

'Mister Abernathy, answer this door this instant' A shrill voice comes from behind the door, the kind of voice that goes right through you and grates on your nerves.

'Go away you god awful woman' what must a man do for peace nowadays?

'Mister Abernathy, I will not be leaving until you answer the door. You have already sabotaged my schedule with your tardiness, which are very poor manners I would like to point out. We have a busy day ahead of us' the voice is continuing to annoy me, busy day? All I intend to do today is to get wasted and blackout.

'Well you'll be waiting a long time won't you cause I'm off to bed now' I shuffle over towards the kitchen table, bottle in hand and intent on ignoring that annoying wench.

'You are taking things too far, today is reaping day and you are to be present at the ceremony in little over an hour, we're taking a big risk leaving it this late. So answer the door this instant, or else I will be forced to contact the authorities' bloody hell, will she be quiet? If the only option is to open the door I will. I rip the door open with such force that the hinges squeak in protest.

'What?' I roar into the woman's face, she looks taken aback at my appearance or maybe she's just shocked that I shouted in her face. Oh well, she'll get over it. I actually look at her, she is from the Capitol that is certainly true, lavender hair, bone white skin, pointed features and crystal blue eyes. The make up and clothes are just as flamboyant and utterly ridiculous: she holds a parasol in the most blinding shade of orange and a dress which appears to be made of duchess satin; also a vile shade of tangerine. The make up where to begin? Her eyes are lined with a sunshine yellow, eye shadow a startling shade of green and then green lipstick, a yellow clutch bag held against her chest covered in emeralds. It hurts to look at her; I avert my eyes before she blinds me.

'Mister Abernathy, I am appalled at your bad manners. Have you never heard of civility or etiquette? This will not help you in approaching sponsors; I'll have to teach you.' Oh great I'm stuck here talking to some bloody control freak, she whips a pad from her bag and a bubble gum pink fountain pen and makes a quick note, the pad has vanished before I have time to blink.

'Well, don't worry, I don't care about sponsors seeing as I'm not mentoring' 11 years I have been the sole mentor of district 12, 22 children have died and there was nothing I can do. I simply won't do it anymore and there's nothing this Capitol wench can do about it.

'I beg to differ, upon your victory of the 50th annual Hunger Games you signed a contract, well not officially but you understand, to mentor the tributes each year. How dare you neglect your duty, to your district, to your Capitol. Have you no sense of honour, have you no compassion?'

Her diatribe is seriously grating on my last nerve; me lacking compassion? Duty to the Capitol? This woman is seriously deluded and there is nothing she can do to make me go to the reapings. I go to close the door in her face, but I'm shocked when her hand shoots out at surprising speed and holds the door open, well she is certainly stronger than she looks and her eyes are blazing with a determination and in that moment she reminds me of her. I am rendered speechless as the similarities between them become more apparent.

'Mister Abernathy, this is not something up for discussion; your prep team are about to come in and make you look as presentable as they possibly can in time for the reapings. You will not resist, you will arrive at the reapings at 1.55 sharp; you will mentor your tributes and I will help you in gaining sponsorships' Her face softens as she seems to take note that my earlier resolve is fading.

'I am sorry to appear so forceful, but if we work together we can do something great. Bring home another district 12 Victor. You are not alone in this, I am here to help. Now your prep team are here, I will see you again shortly' I am shocked, not alone? 'We'? This woman, who's name is still a mystery to me, has captured my interest; somehow this annoying ball of sunshine has given me something I haven't felt in a long time, something I thought had ceased to exist: hope.

**Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.**

I am so glad to have escaped from the presence of Haymitch Abernathy, the way he looked at me was severely discomforting but I did what I set out to do, if the prep team are finished with him my new schedule will be perfect; the scent that came from his home, although a more suitable world would be hovel; disgusting. Had the man never heard of a shower? Cleanliness is such an important component in one's life, good personal hygiene shows you are proud of yourself and encourages others to look upon you in a favourable manner. Hopefully the prep team will be able to make him look human once again, seriously how did this man become a Hunger Games Victor? Well, let us move on: the stage is set, lighting fixtures are in place and now all I have to do is wait until I have to introduce myself as the districts new escort and then select the two lucky children who will be joining me in the Capitol.

I practice what I will say to the audience in a mirror in the room I have been allocated in the Justice Building; these people may not exactly like me, and the tributes will most likely hate me but I meant every word I said to Abernathy earlier, I will endeavour to help him in the process, a pseudo mentor in my own right: winning sponsors and such. I will bring back a victor to district 12, because I am determined to do so. When Effie Trinket is determined there is nothing that can stand in her way. Ask Haymitch Abernathy.

**Haymitch Abernathy, District 12 Mentor.**

Well, I have survived the torture that the prep team inflicted on me, all with the intention of 'making me presentable for public scrutiny, on Miss Trinkets orders'. Well, Miss Trinket: Thank you for the 45 minutes that has been nothing but a pure annoyance; every stray hair on my body has been eradicated, I've bathed in around 40 different tonics all in the name of 'creating a glowing complexion' and someone has managed to tame my wild hair. I now look like a Victor; I am now fit for public scrutiny according to Miss Trinket's stupid standards.

I need a drink, the thought has been present since the torture began but now the need is growing like a tumour; my thoughts solely consumed with getting my hand on a bottle of liquor, my cure for the things that haunt me. I go over to my cupboard before I hear someone clearing their throat; I turn around to find a peacekeeper standing there, identified by his pristine white uniform.

'Mister Haymitch Abernathy?'

'Who else would I bloody be? No, I'm President bloody Snow'

'You are to be escorted to the reaping ceremony, and without that bottle of liquor, on—'

'On Miss Trinket's orders, right?' This woman has been in my life about a day, and turned it upside down; I am starting to miss the previous escort Trojan Gregory, he wasn't so damn persistent and bubbly and well like 'her', the girl I lost forever. I decided to give in, I think today is the first time I will be seen in public looking clean and relatively sober in such a long time; it feels surreal walking through the streets in which I grew up, seeing the shades of grey that are present everywhere in the coal mining district, alongside the poverty, the fear and the general unhappiness that constitutes the atmosphere here.

Today though the fear is increased ten fold, today is reaping day and two children will be snatched from their homes never to return but I remember Miss Trinket's words, how she will help me, how I will not be alone in my struggle to bring at least one of my tributes back; this realisation helps soothe the pain in my stomach. But other pains cannot be healed by the words of this Capitolian woman, the shaking hands and the strange feeling as if spiders are crawling inside my skull. Did I mention that I need a drink?

'Oh, you're on time. Well, I commend you for being punctual at least once today; and I seriously commend your prep team, they have apparently worked a miracle. You look rather dashing if I must say' for some unfathomable reason a blush makes itself known on my face, what the hell?

'And I have specifically ensured that all alcohol has been removed from the train, and the peacekeepers are currently emptying your house of any liquor that remains. I mean what I said earlier, we will mentor a victor; but to do that you must stay sober. Do you understand?' I'm thunderstruck, this woman is scarily efficient and I'm rather annoyed that she'd interfere in my life so thoroughly but I see that determination in her eyes yet again; I feel a pang in my chest, it is so like her, maybe this woman is an angel sent to help me pay her back, so something after so long of merely existing. I begin to share this infectious determination, and I nod my head.

'Yes, I understand. Whatever are your orders now Miss Trinket?' She giggles and bats her eyelashes, it seems that this Capitolite has a sense of humour; it isn't only the prep team who've worked miracles, she is a miracle: a woman from the Capitol who seems to possess a personality, not some being totally devoid of emotion; even if the woman is a little annoying.

'Well I say we get on stage and meet the tribute who'll become the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games Mister Abernathy' she laughs before turning away.

'Ermmm...You can call me Haymitch.' I'm embarrassed but if we are going to be working together I'd rather get past the whole Miss and Mister formality.

'That's very gracious of you, Haymitch. Now, I suppose you can call me Effie, seeing as we are going to be a team' she flashes me a smile and then holds out her hand for me to shake. Well, this sure seems like the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

**Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.**

Well, all of those people who seemed to think that Haymitch Abernathy would seem to cause me any problems have been proven wrong. Doing what I do best, I took control and I solved the situation before me. For once, the tributes of District 12 may stand a chance; and it will be because of me and Haymitch, we will surpass the expectations of what a mentor and escort should do. We will equip these children with every skill they need to survive, both in the Capitol and within the arena. I am waiting for my big entrance, my debut into the world of the Hunger Games.

'And now let me introduce our new district escort...' And that is my cue, I throw the doors open and bounce onto the stage, shouting to address the gathered audience.

'Effie Trinket, is my name and allow me to say that I am honoured to be working here in District 12 as your escort' by now I am standing before the microphone; every camera is trained on me, every person has there eyes trained on me.

'Now, allow me to welcome you all to the beginning of the 64th Annual Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour. Before we select the lucky girl and boy who will be joining me and your district mentor, Mister Haymitch Abernathy, to the Capitol I would like us all to have a warm round of applause for Mister Abernathy' There is a small applause, and Haymitch walks onto the stage he looks petrified.

'Anything you'd like to say Mister Abernathy?' I pull him toward the microphone and he freezes. I lean forward to whisper into his ear.

'Haymitch, say something. It is one of Miss Trinket's orders after all' He laughs awkwardly and begins to talk into the microphone, stumbling through his words. Well, public speaking is something we need to work on; oration is essential in gaining sponsors and Haymitch maybe the worst public speaker I've ever seen.

'Well, that was lovely Haymitch. Now shall we get started now, we'll start with the girls now shall we?' I hear a collective intake of breath from the audience as I walk towards the crystal bowl placed on the far left hand side of the stage, I take a quick peek into the audience and all I see is unadulterated fear; I freeze, am I really prepared to do this? No, I cannot question myself; this is my duty to the Capitol, the Capitol thinks I'm ready so I must be. I quickly snatch a slip from the bowl and call into the audience.

'Livvya Howell'

**Livvya Howell, District 12.**

I look around, an escape route; anything, I'd do anything to get out of this. I cannot go, really I'll die. But it's useless the Peacekeepers would be on me before I'd even escaped the square. So instead I try to arrange my features into an expressionless mask; a futile task seeing as my father says my face is an open book and easily read; so I just begin to drag myself toward the stage and inevitably to my death, dragging my feet to show my reluctance. I am 12, this is my first reaping and I've been 'chosen'. There are thousands of slips in that bowl but this Effie lady picks the one slip that possesses my name, it's so unfair. So, so unfair.

I look back towards my family; my father is holding my step brother in his arms and my younger siblings are all staring at me. They all have tears in their eyes, even Elaina my step mother whom with I have never had the strongest relationship. They are as resigned to my fate as me: I, Livvya Howell, will be dead within the week; sadly this is more than likely a fact. I mouth to my family.

'I'm going to be okay' they see through my lies and then suddenly I begin to get light headed, the world begins to blur before my eyes and then I feel myself falling, I haven't even made it to the stage and I'm blacking out. I'll be seen as the pathetic one, well too bad for them because even if it is futile I will fight until the end, I want to come home, I want to live and I am not as helpless as I seem; everyone has some form of skill or talent, and I think my few talents could actually help in the arena. Then the world blacks out.

**Ford Howell, District 12 Citizen.**

Every year two children are taken to their death, it sickens me. Nobody respects life any more, children are killed in cold blood; innocence and childhood are myths nowadays, our children will never experience these things and it is all because of the Capitol.

The young girl is making her way to the stage at a painstakingly slow pace, trying to prevent the inevitable: her death. She looks incredibly young, I look towards the section she has come from; 12 years of age and sentenced to death. I shake my head at the injustice but I dare not speak aloud, I want to stand up and say something but it isn't in my best interest to incur the wrath of the Capitol.

The girl, I'll remember her as I do every tribute is slaughtered in the Capitol's sickening death trap; she appears to be around 4'10'' and her petite frame is made even more obvious by how it trembles in obvious fear, I will always remember her ebony hair and the way her forest green eyes twinkle as she sings lullaby's to her younger siblings at night, her soft yet haunting melodies she composes in the confines of her bedroom; I will always remember her round face, littered with freckled, the high cheekbones she shared with her mother, her lopsided smile and her crooked teeth. She may not be stunning, but to me she will be beautiful forever. I, Ford Howell will never forget my daughter, and I will never forget that it was the Capitol that snatched her from me.

As her father, I am meant to protect her but in this situation I am rendered completely useless. I know my daughter will die; she is too good to survive in the arena, too innocent and too kind to take another's life. You cannot fathom what I am experiencing in this moment: the pain is crippling, to know your child will die and being unable to do anything to prevent it is something which cannot be transferred into words.

Liv turns to us, a wry smile on her features and she mouths the words: 'I'm going to be okay'. The words are empty though, she knows she is as good as dead and yet she tries to appear strong. Tears pour from my eyes. I see the light fade in her eyes, any hope that ever lived there vanquished and then she sways before collapsing to the ground, she is then dragged to the stage and deposited into the arms of Haymitch Abernathy when she should be being brought into my arms, her father's.

My Daughter, Livvya Howell, the light of my life will perish within one week and I cannot do anything about it. I only hope that she joins her mother once she escapes this world, wherever we go when we die and escape the tyranny that is the Capitol's reign. I turn and leave for the Justice Building, I need to speak to my daughter alone.

**Oh Little Livv, and her poor Dad- but Livvya isn't truly helpless now is she?. And we get a little insight to Effie and Haymitch's relationship. We'll meet the district 12 boy on the train ride or should I do a second part to this chapter? And we may get a little bit of Effie/Haymitch fluff! Don't worry though, you'll be getting a lot more insight to the characters and I know that in the last two chapters there have been like holes in the plot, things we've missed but do not worry... All the blanks will be filled in as soon as all 24 are introduced and we'll get to know them a lot more.**

**Let me know what you think though, I'd love to hear what you want to see.**

**Thanks, and I think we'll go to District 4 next. We'll be seeing the reapings and the train ride through the eyes of Mags, cause don't we all just love Mags? :D x**


	26. Determination

**Hey, another update already? I know, this is what happens when I'm broke and have no coursework… I write like a man possessed! :D Now, this is the end of the District 12 Reapings. So a little more Haymitch and Effie, and they won't be like 'lovers' at all… I just want to explore the Haymitch/Effie dynamic and I really think that Effie was more involved in the rebellion than we get from the books. So, Effie will be the same but underneath her wigs and stuff… well in the immortal words of Mean Girls, Effie's hair is so big 'because 'it's full of secrets'.**

**P.S: If you have never watched Mean Girls, first of all watch it ASAP and secondly…Have you been living in a cave? **

**Oh, now credit for the tributes (who you'll definitely get a flavour of in this chapter!):**

**PenMagic for Archie Cross**

** AND**

**Morning Hutcherson for Livvya Howell**

**Haymitch Abernathy, District 12 Mentor**

Miss Trinket, or Effie as I should start calling her, looks as though she is about to faint; well this is the harsh reality of the Hunger Games and I know that the Capitol lead a sheltered life but they have to know that even 12 year olds aren't safe. Is it different watching someone die on a television screen than calling them to their death? It must be because Effie is shaking like a leaf, or more accurately shaking like me; even thinking about these damned games make me need a drink and knowing this little girl in my arms is more than likely doomed to die a most likely painful death well it makes the prospect of a drink look all the more brighter but I promised to not drink and to be a 'competent' mentor on the orders of Miss Trinket herself.

Effie seems to regain composure but I notice the forced aspect of her smile, and the tears pooling in her eyes; I may be renowned as the alcoholic victor but I did win and it wasn't my physical abilities but my intelligence that won me the 50th Annual Hunger Games and I'm smart enough to know that Miss Effie Trinket is definitely shaken by this. I look down as she moves across the stage to stand before the crystal bowl, ready to select the male tribute that will be joining Livvya on the journey to the Capitol and more than likely on the journey to the after life; if you believe in the after life that is. Silence reigns, shouldn't she have called a name by now? I look up and see her standing before the bowl, her hand shaking and reluctant to pick a name; hesitant to send a child to their untimely demise. Could it be that a Capitolite is capable of compassion? By now she has a slip and she is sweeping across the stage.

'Archie Cross. That is the conclusion of the District 12 Reapings for the 62nd Annual Hunger Games. May the Odds be ever in your favour' Her words are hollow, her early enthusiasm has faded, any form of pleasant façade the woman I once deemed to be an annoying harpy maintains is forced and there is a mournful tone to her voice. Not many would detect it but I do, I may spend a majority of my time slumped over in a drunken stupor and covered in my own vomit but for some unfathomable reason I notice little nuances; like Effie's reluctance to call a name or the way she stares dejectedly into space as the boy makes his way onstage.

The boy? Oh yes, as a mentor I should see who I'm working with; this Cross lad looks familiar with his hazel eyes and the blonde hair; he doesn't look like a District 12 kid, town or seam. He is rather tanned and although he is skinny you can see the wiry muscles that line his limbs. Cross? I know it now; his brother was the kid who committed suicide a while back, the kid was a bit different and the town bullies pushed him over the edge: Bastard kids, why do you need bullies in a world where the Hunger Games exist? So this must be his brother, or relative cause there is a likeness between the two. His a bit closer to the stage now and I get a proper look at the kid and I can tell he's a fighter and that'll help him in the arena; it's in the way he squares his jaw and marches on stage without hesitance before turning to glare in the camera. For once District 12 may stand an actual chance.

**Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort**

Well that was simply horrific, more than horrific it was beyond disturbing; my training had never prepared me for this, to send two children to their deaths. I thought I could make sure that 12 had a Victor, and by Victor I mean someone unlike Haymitch Abernathy although he seems to have changed his tune and trying to achieve an acceptable level of competence. These are children and in all fairness the blasted 'Dark Days' happened 62 years ago; I doubt the Hunger Games are truly necessary anymore, or maybe there is an alternative that doesn't result in children dying. It's all rather stupid in my honest opinion. Oh my goodness, did I really think such blasphemous thoughts? Am I criticising the government which has given me everything? Fear slices through me, this cannot be happening: First of all, questioning the authority of a presidential decree is punishable by death whether you hail from the districts or the Capitol and I very much so enjoy belonging to thee land of the living and secondly, thinking these things goes against everything I know.

I'm already more than likely facing disciplinary action for my poor performance at the reaping; let me just say that for once protocol seemed to go out of the window, am I really ready for this? I don't think I am, seeing these children die isn't a sight I want to particularly see and what happens if I bond with them? I take a calming breath just as I was taught in my techno-Pilates class in order to regain some sense of decorum; on one hand I am totally embarrassed that I messed up in front of Panem but on the other I'm determined to bring home a winner and to do that I have to as efficient as possible because efficiency is the key that can open any door. I snap my fingers and my prep team are at my side almost instantly, they fix my make up where it has run and I look in the mirror: Perfect as usual, now I need to become the bubbly and obsessively efficient Effie which the Capitol expects; whether or not I'm having second thoughts about this escorting business or even the Hunger Games themselves.

'Now, I want the train departing at exactly 4pm as it would arrive in the Capitol tomorrow around lunch time. I will devise a new agenda to be applied throughout the train ride and pre-games to ensure it all runs as smoothly as possible. Now go, today is a big, big day for us all. Oh, and someone please bring Mister Abernathy to me as soon as possible I have a few things we need to discuss which I can factor into said agenda. Are we clear? Thank you and Happy Hunger Games.' And just like that I'm back to being the Capitol Effie Trinket, but I think I may have a little something up my sleeve, metaphorically of course seeing as my sleeve is tailored perfectly so that nothing could ever get up there.

**Archie Cross, District 12**

The first thought that passes through my mind is that by some circumstance the Cross family must be cursed; I mean our parents lost one son a matter of months ago to suicide and now I was picked to enter the Hunger Games: a tournament which will most likely result in my death. Now, that is simply unfair on everyone; losing two members of the family in less than a year and what is the purpose? I have never done anything wrong, always content to slip into the background so why out of every name was I picked. I mean I am 15 years of age, and although it sounds selfish I want to live; I want to win because there is so much I want to do that I haven't done: I've never been kissed and although it may sound stupid I've never really had a friend who wasn't one of my brothers. I'm determined to make sure that the Hunger Games don't take this chance away from me; I will return as Victor, well I'll try my damn hardest either way, and I will continue on the path I want my future to take: I'll make my own choices, I will have the freedom to do as I please within limits and for once I may be recognised as Archie Cross, not as the brother of Aly Cross the 'freak'.

I don't mean that I don't want to be associated with Aly because he was my brother and my best friend; but if by some miracle I do manage to escape this whole shebang with my life intact well it will truly be a good punch in the faces of every snobby merchant kid who taunted Aly, whose vicious words drove him to take his own life. Hopefully after these games those bastards will be eating their words: every taunt, every snide; petrified to try and make me live a life of torment any longer. They will respect me, fear me and although I'd ideally live in a world where everyone would get along and make daisy chains well obviously not that much because it's just pathetic; but really is it too much to ask for human beings to maintain some resemblance of civility? Not in my opinion but this is Panem and well humanity isn't what it once was, it's more flawed than ever seeing that we're responsible for the creation of the Hunger Games.

In the best of circumstances I'll be back here in District 12 in around two weeks and I'm not naïve enough to think that I won't have been changed; you must be mentally challenged to think that you escape an encounter with the arena without serious repercussions emotionally, mentally and physically. But I've been put into a situation that is a matter of life and death with no other options: I choose life and attached to that is all this baggage but I think that the familiarity of home and my family are enough to compensate for this; the opportunity to find love and the chance to pursue whatever interests I have is something that I'll win alongside the title of Victor.

I run my hands through my short blonde hair, I am a bit pent up but I think this is how you have to be in the Hunger Games; like saying goodbye without any idea as if you will ever see your loved ones again is daunting; the uncertainty and the confusion is a tad overwhelming but I need to have some shred of confidence or else I'll become the typical District 12 bloodbath victim and that is not what I'm expecting to happen. I'm not necessarily a natural born killer, but I'm a survivor; I've lived years being the subject of jokes and I've watched one of the people I love be broken down so much that they lose the will to live: That is strength and that is my key to survival.

I've been standing around waiting a few minutes now for visitors and no one has come and I actually a little disheartened by this turn of events; I mean I know my family love me whole heartedly and I'd never question it; so why aren't they here? I mean I can sympathise that it could be difficult to say goodbye with the finality of the whole scenario but if you think about it I'm the one who's going to be fighting for my life. Before I can become too bitter the door is thrown open and my parents rush forward to throw their arms around me; my mother Alicia is swimming in her tears and it's scary: My mother is sophisticated and although not negligent of us she us generally hard faced and rarely shows any outward sign of emotion.

'My baby boy, Archie. Don't die please, just come back to us. It's too soon…' I suppose the grief of losing one son and facing the possibility of losing another can break even the strongest of women, she just strokes my face and although most teenagers would push her hand away because of the 'babying' quality to the gesture; I do no such thing because it is strangely comforting and I know that whatever may happen, I'll always be my mom's little boy however childish it may sound.

'Archie, this is a contest that only men can win…and you're a man. As much of a man as I, Patrick or even Aly before he left us. Do what you must.' My father Hamish, is not a talkative man; nor is he brooding, he is just a simple man who is content with his lot in life and doesn't see the need to talk about every little thing but I truly appreciate his effort to comfort me with his words and I feel pride welling in my chest; being called a man by one of your male role models is something which does great things for your confidence.

'Thanks, I'm going to try my hardest I promise. Break the losing streak for 12 eh? I mean if Haymitch can do it anyone can right?' How ironic? I was under the impression that my parents would be comforting me but alas I find myself fighting the dark cloud of grief and depression which hangs over my parents. Things never really go the way they're meant to with Cross family though so I don't know why I wasn't expecting this role reversal with my parents. They seem to chuckle at my light humour and then we're discussing how life is going to work with me in the games, who'll be doing my chores and everything; but they're talking about it as though I'm definitely going to win and although their confidence is flattering and I have every intention of trying to win: they need to be prepared for anything but how do I broach the subject of my potential imminent death?

'Anyway where's Patrick?' I know that asking about my brother's whereabouts will be a good way of steering this conversation in a more comfortable direction; to be honest I'm actually rather curious as to where he is seeing as I thought he'd be the first to burst through the door hitting me with advice and that but he still hasn't shown his face. Maybe he thought I'd want to see our parents first which is pretty logical but obviously I want to see him, we're the Cross brothers: It's like a sacred bond, even if it sounds girly we're always there for each other and have each other's backs; Isn't that what being brothers is all about?

I notice that both of my parents are avoiding looking at me; my father seems to be overly interested in the ornate grandfather clock, it is beautiful I'll give you that with the cherry wood carvings and the golden dials but I know the purpose of this: they're avoiding the question and it's really grating on my last nerve. Why hasn't Patrick arrived yet, I just stare imploringly at my parents; they will end up answering this question.

'I'm sure he'll arrive soon Archie, he just disappeared as soon as the reapings concluded. I don't know exactly where he is.' My mother was trying to appease me, but really how can she comfort me? I'm feeling really betrayed; hell, he and Aly were the only two friends I've ever had and they've always been there for me. And right now I think I need my big brother more than ever and this is the one time he decides to leave me hanging, great. My parents sense my dejected mood and although they try to cheer me up, in vain, I just tell them I need to be alone and they go; and we're all uncertain as to when our paths will cross again. I'm rarely aggressive but I start to punch a stuffed satin cushion so much that the feather fall across the floor, I cannot remain angry for long though; if I am going to have any chance of winning I need to keep my cool, I won't win on being the biggest or the strongest so I'm going to need strategy and for that I need a level head.

'Well, you're pretty angry aren't you?' Oh well look who it is, Patrick Cross finally arrives and my anger vanishes; we're so close that it is too hard to remain angry with him, I mean he is my brother. The man of the moment is leaning against the doorframe, his muscled arms crossed against his chest as if to try and radiate a sense of nonchalance but I know better; when you know someone so well you can read them pretty well and I know that my brother is scared; maybe it's the tightness around his eyes or how his hands are balled into fists.

'I was 'cause I thought you weren't going to show your face old man' I smile, just seeing him makes me feel a bit better about the whole situation; Pat looks offended for a second and then just grins, walking over to me and punching me in thee arm. The sad thing is he doesn't hold back and it hurts, I thought he'd be a bit nicer seeing that I'm about to enter a fight to the death but this just proves that not even the Hunger Games is stronger than our brotherhood.

'Of course I was going to come, brothers forever man; you know I've always got your back Archie. I had to fetch something but I always intended on coming up. I'm just pissed that I couldn't volunteer.' The thing is if Pat were of reaping age he would've volunteered; he's always been the leader of us, and I wouldn't of been surprised that if he had been reaped when he was eligible that he would of returned home as Victor; but that's not how the world works, this battle is mine and depressingly mine alone.

'What did you have to get then?' He just smirks and pulls out Aly's old crucifix; personally, I'm not a believer in God and what happened with Aly just made this belief of mine firmer but Aly always believed in God and for that reason I've always respected people who have a sense of faith. This is my token, because physically I'm going into the arena but I know that Pat and Aly, wherever he is, will be with me in spirit at least. I just hug Pat, yes we are brother who have no qualms about physical affection but I try to communicate how much it means simply through this simple gesture; I think he understands as he squeezes me so hard that I know he understands.

'Until we meet again little brother' one positive thing is that however this ends I'll be seeing one of my brothers again. Then the Peacekeepers with their pristine white uniforms arrive to escort me to the train and then I know that then is when it all starts to change; this morning I was simply Archie Cross, concerned with who would be my first kiss but as soon as I get on that train my major concern will be who and how I'll be killing 23 other people.

**Livvya Howell, District 12.**

Daddy gave me some great advice as to how to deal with the whole Hunger Games experience; I may only be 12 years old and in comparison to many of the other tributes I'll appear a runt. Nobody will consider me a threat whatsoever but maybe I'm not as innocent and harmless as my appearance indicates; I'm not silly and I know my chances aren't good being 12 years old and on top of that, being the tribute of District 12 which has the worst track record when it comes to having Victors but I cannot simply lie down and accept my fate. I need to show everyone not to underestimate me, because it will cost them: In theory, the careers will spend time targeting 'threats' and if I'm able to survive the initial bloodbath which happens at the cornucopia maybe my little plan may actually work; I'll need as much luck as possible but isn't that what the Hunger Games: A game of luck?

I look at the people who are sitting around me; I have the Capitol lady, Effie something opposite me and she doesn't look like any of the other Capitol people I've ever seen although it is rather obvious she's had some surgical enhancements: she doesn't look artificially happy or enthusiastic, in fact she seems to be surveying me and the Archie boy with a thoughtful expression. I know better than to ask about what's the cause of the change in her demeanor, from now on every word I say and every little thing I do could have devastating consequences. I have a role to play; I'm going to be the quiet and naïve young girl who is amazed by the Capitol and garner some sympathy, ideally I'd tell them how dumb I think this whole thing is but that is just as bad as signing your own death warrant, which isn't something I really want to do. Oh, I'm meant to be amazed by the Capitol aren't I? Well best put the plan into action now.

'Oh Effie, your dress is very pretty. As is the whole training, you must feel very lucky to live around such wonderful things. I wish I could be around things like this all the time.' Did she hear the slight venom in my voice? Did I overdo it? Can she read my face as well as everybody else? Oh it doesn't matter now; Effie is genuinely smiling at me and reaches over to place her hand atop my own. I should hate this pink-haired woman but there's something about her: I want to trust this lady, I do trust this lady.

'Livvya, it's not as nice as the colour of your eyes. I know you and Archie may be scared and I'm very sorry for what's happened to you both but I'm going to help however I can' What? Did this Capitol woman just apologise to us and sincerely at that? Well that was very weird but that's not the point I look down, well it seems that Miss Trinket isn't your ordinary Capitol 'bimbo' or whatever the word is that my father uses. I look towards Haymitch and Archie and they're both looking as shocked as I feel so I think I'm correct in my assumption that this is not the normal way for Capitol people to act and I start to like Effie even more for it. Without reason Effie excuses herself from the room with the promise she'll be back on time for dinner, how strange?

'So you two, welcome to the Hunger Games' I return my gaze to Haymitch, his seam grey eyes are more alert than any other time I've seen him; usually in the hob where he is buying alcohol from old Ripper, I take this as a good sign and just smile happily even though I'd rather tell him that I'd rather not be involved in the Hunger Games at all; I don't think my smile fooled him at all though because he laughs at my expression. Why did I have to have such an expressional face? So I drop my act for now, in all honesty I'll only need it in the interview; it's about sponsors and I don't care what the other tributes think, no matter what they'll think I'm weak and even if I do get a good training score they'll assume it was a fluke.

'Now, I'm going to mentor you to the best of my abilities, but first of all I need to know whether or not you're training alone or together?' Wow, usually Haymitch is too drunk to form a coherent sentence and now he seems to be taking his role as a mentor seriously; I said the Hunger Games were a game of luck and it just seems lucky that I was reaped the year that Haymitch decided to actually do his job; maybe my plan will work, I've been pretty lucky so far: My little fainting episode at the reaping will ensure everyone looks over me as a weakling and now Haymitch is sobered up. I'm so elated by how things are turning out that I only just catch Archie's words.

'Alone' Well, I'm a little annoyed; Archie seemed nice and I was banking him being my ally because I'm going to need someone to protect me in the arena, I need someone who can fight. He is looking at me, his expression a clear apology; maybe he could see I was a little irked. Oh well, I know what he thinks: 12 year old, going to be a useless ally; How funny when he see's I'm not as harmless as my stature implies. I'll just find another ally and I'll make sure he recognises his mistake; oh my, why am I being so vindictive? I just smile at him and look back at the tablecloth. He is not a bad boy, but if I'm coming home he has to die it is as simple as that however crude it may sound.

'That's okay Archie, I'll work with Effie.' He looks relieved, what did he expect me to do? Kill him? We're not in the arena yet for Panem's sake. In fact this may be beneficial, I'll tell Effie my plan and then Archie won't realise until it's too late and my plan is fully in action. Shame for him but under these circumstances I can't necessarily pity him.

**There we** **go people, Archie and Livvya! What do you think? Now, these damned reapings will be over soon..and then onto the Pre-Games which are planned and will be rather long but nowhere as tedious as the reapings ;) and we'll see some familiar faces… Umm, Now REVIEW…Tell me anything, your favourite tributes so far, anything you'd like to see, any suggestions… :D **

**Loves Yah xx**


	27. A Moment of Reflection

**Well, we're about to enter the 'Pre-Games'…OMG! Fiiiinaaallly, well this chapter is just going to be a little reflection from characters and their first sight of the Capitol and all that shizzle; Like, I just watched the Nationals episode of Glee and cried so I've decided to write to try and regain some composure! :D**

**Now the poll remains open, for now… and I would like it if ya'll just fill it in so I know your thoughts!**

**So here we go with the Reflections…**

**Oh, and to my mysterious reviewer FACTINFO: I'm sorry that you misunderstood, this is the 62nd Hunger Games so Haymitch is eligible as mentor as are all noticeable Victor mentioned throughout the trilogy; the only exceptions to my understanding are Finnick, Annie, Cashmere, Gloss and Johanna… and of course Katniss and Peeta! Thanks for pointing it out though :) **

**Claude Dew, District 2.**

I am a tribute in the Hunger Games, and I do not want to be one bit yet I volunteered for this; I just think about all the things which I'll be missing if I were to die: Marrying Iris, watching my baby grow and just growing old happy with the achievements I had accumulated over many years; truthfully this could still happen, my chances at survival are higher than most seeing as I hail from a 'career' district and I've been trained for the eventuality that I could end up playing this game. I've got the skills to eliminate my competition but I really doubt I have the conviction; It's only cold blooded killers that emerge victorious from the Hunger Games so no matter what may happen I'll end up losing even if I escape with my life intact because I am not a cold blooded killer.

I mean, I'm going to be a father; how can I walk around slaughtering people like those two harmless 12 year olds when one day that could be my child trapped in an arena and forced into a battle to the death. I try and breathe through this anxiety that has taken hold of me, if I have any chance of getting home: back to Iris and our child, to my family and everything else I care about I need to switch these emotions off and become a cold blooded killer; I need to slaughter indiscriminately and without mercy but it still strikes me as wrong and I doubt I'll be able to completely change my moral code in the week before the games begin.

'What you up to?' I snap out of the thoughts that had been consuming me, I direct my attention towards the door and see my district partner staring at me with such intensity that I turn away; Sandy Burghardt is not essentially beautiful with her muscled physique and dirty blonde hair she is quite plain and in all honesty looks like a typical teenager to be found in District 2 but there is something in those cerulean eyes of hers which is striking yet enigmatic; it's as though she looks into your very soul and at this precise moment in time I don't want her gazing into my very soul, I don't know what she'd find.

'Just thinking about strategy and potential allies' I don't want a conversation, hence why I came to my room but she just comes to sit beside me and laughs; the sound is sarcastic and I know straight away that she's seen right through my poor lie. I turn to face her and she quirks her eyebrow; an invitation for me to tell the truth and I don't know what makes me spill my guts but she seems like someone I can trust, a good person.

'I don't know what I'm doing here, I want to be back home: I was never meant to end up here.' It just erupts from me, everything I've been thinking and I find a sense of relief by telling her; they do say that a problem shared is a problem halved. Sandy just pulls her hair into a ponytail before reaching forward to give me a hug. I don't know Sandy that well in all honesty, from what I've heard she is slightly abrasive and sarcastic and therefore not the type to give hugs but I'm glad she is trying to comfort me.

'Okay then, first of all you can't change what's happened so look to the future: you have everything you ever wanted back home so fight for that and don't dwell on these things it'll just make everything seem worse. Secondly, don't let Enobaria find out you've been thinking these things or she'll rip your throat out, literally; If you keep letting your emotions show you'll look weak and that'll scrap any chance of you getting home. One question though: If you never wanted to come here then why did you volunteer?' Wow, well that is food for thought; even though she is seventeen and practically an adult that was very wise for someone our age and she's right, I need to toughen up; If I want to go home then I have to blank everything out but her question is something I don't want to answer; she looks at me imploringly, expecting an answer.

'Well, my girlfriend is pregnant and winning the games would bring financial security and everything we need for our family' It is the response I've devised to fend off any questions, I told my mentors the same thing but it seems that Sandy isn't believing a word of it; she's leaned back and crossed her arms against her chest and giving me a luck that screams: 'Do I look stupid?'.

'Don't feed me the same bullshit you fed our dumb ass mentors Claude; I do not believe that for a second. You're a Dew, your family is rolling in money; in fact you have more money than sense and your parents could easily give you your 'financial support'. So tell me the damn truth, oh and congratulations by the way.' Well, there is no use in lying to her is there? It's those piercing eyes of hers; she is a human life detector: we're going to be allies in the arena and so far she's been pleasant even if she's been blunt.

'I volunteered for my brother because his only 14, everyone thinks his ready for it but his not…I mean Liam has told me what it's like, the nightmares and everything; I wouldn't want him to endure that. So I volunteered, and however much I want to I cannot bring myself to regret it.' My voice begins to break, I saved my brother but it may cost me my life; Iris the love of her life and my child; their father. It's not right at all and I wish that it would just all disappear and I'd find myself back home but that will never happen; well it could, but 23 others have to die first. Sandy smiles and punches me in the arm, not violently but in a gesture of support and right now I really appreciate it.

'Thanks for telling me the truth Claude, that was a very selfless thing for you to do and I respect that. I hope you do well and for telling the truth I'll tell you something: Don't underestimate that girl from 5, however weak she may appear to be; well, it's an act so keep an eye on her.' She get's up to leave and although I am grateful for the advice that she's given me I don't fail to recognise that this whole conversation has centred on me spilling my guts whereas I've found out very little about my district partner. By now she is at the door, about to leave me.

'Sandy, why did you volunteer?' She turns and stares at me blankly, as if she doesn't know the answer to the question; I notice that she has removed her token from the pocket of her sweatpants and is twirling the plain silver ring around her fingers with incredible dexterity: the sign of a masterful knife thrower; but she places it back into her pocket and folds her arms as she stares at me and once again I feel uncomfortable by the intensity of her stare.

'That is for me to know and for you to find out Claude, see you in a bit.'

**Greer Ballentine, District 3.**

'So Leo, what are you basic strengths?' I study the scrawny boy before me, my ally; he is biting his lip and wringing his hands as if reluctant to tell me something which is wholly unfair; I've shared a lot with him since we made the decision to form an alliance: my efficiency in devising suitable strategies, my knowledge of electricity and incorporating it into traps like Beetee. I mean I've told him about things that are completely unnecessary to the games like my potential internship with Beetee and my turbulent relationship with my brother; the only way our alliance will be effective is if we trust one another implicitly and whereas I have demonstrated my trust in him, he has failed to reciprocate.

I am rather insulted, I mean we both want to prove District 3's worth yet he seems to be putting nothing into this, and does he not trust me? Does he really think so lowly of me that he anticipates me betraying him? I take a calming breath to soothe my rising temper and straighten the hem of the aubergine coloured skirt I'm wearing. The only things I know is that his name is Leonardo, he is 15 and that he grew up in one of the less economically developed areas of our district but that is truly not enough for me to go on; I need to know every factor, every extraneous variable which could affect the strategy we decide to use. For us to succeed everything has to be perfect, and if he doesn't decide to work with me then everything will fall apart and then we will both probably die. I take a calming breath and reach over to touch his hand.

'Leo, you can trust me; I promise I won't betray you and that I want us both to do as well as possible.' He looks up into my eyes, as if trying to find some note of deceit; murky brown meets pale green as we stare into the depths of one another's eyes; he sets his jaw as if he has made his decision and I smile encouragingly.

'I trust you implicitly Greer' I breath a sigh of relief, an alliance where one party doesn't trust the other generally results in disaster and I want to avoid any disaster whatsoever. He smiles at me and then begins to chew his lips as if nervous; Leo is a quiet boy, respectful and kind from what I know but there is something else about the boy; not many would notice but with my keen scientist's eye I can discern some other things about the young enigma before me: that passionate glint in his eye.

'Leo, I won't judge you for anything at all and if your not comfortable telling me than wait until you are. I don't want you to feel as though I'm pressuring you in some way, we're a team.' He nods his head at my words, his decision made and I wait with baited breath.

'Greer, by any chance do you object to playing with fire?' He is trying to gauge my reaction but I control my face; I'm confused as to how that would matter in the games unless it is symbolic. Does he mean taking risks? He must note my confusion as he elaborates but I notice a change in his voice it is stronger, laced with that passion I'd noted from his eyes earlier.

'Fire, as in the element. You talk about electricity being incorporated into traps, but how about fire?' That is an interesting thought and I factor it into everything else I know and I see the beginnings of a strategy forming in my mind and I smile; this year everyone will know that the District 3 tributes are a force to be reckoned with. We discuss various scenario's and methods for the next our or so and the plan is fully formed; all we need to do is discuss this with Beetee and make any adjustments he see's fit and then we're ready for the games to begin.

'Oh Leo, it's going to be perfect' I can't contain my enthusiasm as I jump from my seat and engulf him in a hug; Nash said I'd show the whole of Panem that brains beat brawn and I think this may actually be true if we can implement this strategy of ours. Leo is laughing at my exuberance; he is really coming out of his shell and I couldn't be happier, together we truly make a formidable alliance.

'Just the way you like it.' I laugh at his reference to my obsessive pursuit of perfection and to jest him even further I straighten his tie where I had knocked it askew when I embraced him; he just smiles and I feel an answering smile creep onto my face.

'Yes Leo, together you and I will be a blazing inferno. Just the way you like it.'

**Autumn Thorn, District 5.**

Since my encounter with Galen the previous evening I've locked myself in my room; I can't face the boy because if my plan is to follow through he has to die, there is no alternative. For the past years my one objective has been to enter these games and win; I've always been confident that I could do it but bit by bit that confidence has dwindled away to nothing; I was arrogant and presumptuous and I don't think I ever understood what I was letting myself in for. I thought I could hunt and adapt: I can but how will that help me when I am up against careers who know how to kill someone in about 40 unique ways; I'm a good actress but it takes it's toll and with the stress of the games growing and growing I can feel my façade slipping away to nothing but the stupid 17 year old girl I am.

I planned to win by manipulating others but how could I manipulate someone as sweet as Galen; I already feel awful that he has brought into the whole 'helpless puppy' act I employed and I'll never go near enough a career to manipulate them. I came to these games to win for my father, to get him the medication that would return him to the 'Papa' I have always known rather than the empty shell of a man that haunts our home; I took it as a certainty I'd win but the harsh reality is that I'll most likely perish like the nameless tributes in years past and my father will die, not knowing he is surrounded by loved ones but consumed with the grief that his eldest daughter died a horrific death. How can I have been so stupid to play a game of life and death without fully understanding the rules? The consequences?

'Autumn, we're almost there. You'll need to come out soon and grab some food; we have a long day ahead of us at the Remake Centre and maybe we could talk about strategy for when we're in the games.' It's Galen, his soothing voice makes me take a deep breath as if I had been in pain but his presence has alleviated it. He is too sweet, but unlike me he is not playing a game: he is genuine and if I am to win I can never be genuine; I'll never get to know Galen or anything and for some unfathomable reason that thought causes me great anguish but I need to win this and so I will push these alien feelings aside. I came to win, no matter what but what would I do if I found that I had to kill Galen? I instantly push that thought from my mind.

'Please Autumn, I want to help you but I can't if you lock yourself in the room constantly. Please' He sounds desperate and I feel something plummet in my stomach: He wants to help me, well to do that he must know the real me. I push myself off of the bed and pull on my clothes from the previous day and waltz to the door. I trust Galen, and together we could do well; I throw the door wide and Galen stands there stunned for standing before him is not the snivelling wreck of a girl he expected but the real Autumn Thorn: Standing straight with her head held high and her icy blue eyes not watering but strong and defiant.

'Galen, come in here. I need to tell you some things and I don't want anyone else finding out' He steps into the room, his eyes wide as if he has entered some form of trance; I hastily snap the door shut after making sure no one is in the immediate vicinity before walking over to Galen who has perched himself on the end of the bed. It's now or never Autumn; tell him quickly. But I can't so instead of confessing to my deception I kiss him and all my worries vanish, I deepen the kiss and he responds enthusiastically knotting his fingers through my auburn hair. I can tell him another time, for today I am the weak one; the fragile doll beneath his masculine grasp: but the longer I maintain this persona the more alienated he will become when I eventually tell the truth. I say that I can adapt and that I am strong but these are lies, I am a coward.

**Iian Trescott, District 6.**

Dari sits opposite me, chewing on a rasher of bacon as we listen to Ramona rambling on; Dari is very sweet in all honesty and although I understand the logic behind the function of the Hunger Games that does not mean I have to like the fact that young, innocent girls like Dari are forced into such a dire situation; it's simply sickening. Ramona on the other hand may seem annoying at first but once you look past the make up and the wigs she is an incredibly smart woman and she has been loading our heads full of knowledge while we wait to arrive at the Capitol and meet our actual mentor.

'So, you two are forming an alliance is that correct?' Ramona is looking between the two of us and I nod my head towards Dair; we are in an alliance but in this particular alliance it is Dari that will act as the mouthpiece, I'm learning to tolerate or maybe even like Dari and her religious quirks but that does not mean that I am willing to sit around and make idle chat. Dari continues chewing on her food and wipes her mouth with her napkin before addressing Ramona.

'Yes we are in an alliance and I've actually been thinking about a possible strategy.' Well this is definitely news to me, we haven't spoken about strategy whatsoever we'd just made small talk about our day to day live although once again it was mostly Dari talking and in many places I didn't understand what she was saying as she opted to speak in what I have christened 'religious riddles' about the sanctity of life and whatnot.

'I was thinking that seeing as I'm opposed to the murdering aspect of these games that I should specialise in survival skills whereas Iian should focus on combative skills in case we find ourselves in a confrontational situation.' What? Am I hearing her right? Is she blatantly refusing to kill anyone in the Hunger Games, what a ridiculous notion. I understand that she has her religious beliefs but when you're playing a game when the rule is kill or be killed you have to push such beliefs aside and do what has to be done; it appears that Ramona is thinking along the same line as me.

'Dariela, how on ever do you expect to win if you don't kill?' Dar looks affronted by Ramona's question, even though it seems like a perfectly logical question in my opinion, she purses her lips and folds her arms; I notice tears pooling in her eyes and although it is totally out of character I find myself wanting to comfort the young girl.

'Thou shalt not commit murder; it's one of the Ten Commandments and I will always live by them; I will not compromise my beliefs for the entertainment of the Capitol. In a world where we are ruled through oppression and dictatorship the only thing you have to hold onto is your beliefs and I will hold onto my beliefs steadfastly whether or not it results in my death. If this bothers you Iian you can always cancel the alliance, but before you do you must realise that I will be useful: Spy on other tributes, heal your wounds, find food. I genuinely think I could help you win.' Although all of this spiel seems totally irrational to me I can see how passionate about it all Dari is and I respect that; and as for the alliance everything she just said would be helpful.

'Dari, I would like to continue with the alliance thank you; your strategy sounds very impressive' She smiles at my words, but I can't help but feel anger and despair: despair that if Dari's plan comes to fruition then I'll have to watch her die and anger at the Hunger Games; Dari is sweet, kind and nurturing and under no circumstances does she deserve the fate that awaits her. We need more people like her in the world, but I can't help but admire her for her courage. Dari is aware that death awaits but rather than feeling fear she accepts her fate; they say only the good die young and this phrase could never be truer than when applied to Dari.

**Haha, a little chappy for you all! Now, Claude's reason for volunteering? Sandy's mysteriousness? Leo and Greer and there little plans? Autumn's turmoil and then the kiss? Iian and his sentimentality, and Dari's confession about not killing? Let me know what you think and REVIEW!**

**Poll is still open! :D**

**Loves Yah, Lawrence xx**

**Oh and any requests as to who you all want to see in the next chapter? :)**


	28. Capitol Camaraderie

**Okay, this weekend I have been on a roll :) Ahaaa, it's nice to have finished the Reapings but now we're in the Pre-Games and what would it be without a little someone popping up from the Capitol to let their thoughts be known eh?**

**Meet Cinna Despardos, a want to be stylist… Who isn't the biggest fan of the Hunger Games; and I may as well throw in some snobby friends of his just for good luck. The point of the chapter is to see how the Capitol view the tributes.**

**Now, Cinna always interested me but I think he grew into the character that Suzanne Collins created for us all to love! So he may seem a little OOC but I hope you forgive me!**

**Cinna Despardos, Capitol Citizen.**

I try in vain to ignore the obnoxious voices of those that I call my 'friends'; they are not my friends whatsoever because I have lived under the impression that friends are human beings capable of emotion, rationality and other such qualities. This pack of dogs can barely be classified as human, even if I weren't taking the ridiculous cosmetic alterations they had all subjected unto themselves; an easier way to describe them would to use an analogy regarding fabrics: They are spandex; however sparkly you make it and however pretty it can seem you can always see what lies beneath and it isn't generally that pretty and like spandex these people are incredibly uncomfortable to be around.

I often ask myself why I choose to grace these imbeciles with my presence and the simple reason is that they are the key to getting what I want; I'm not the typical air headed Capitolite at all, each one of these morons have connections that I need to achieve my dream. These are selfish people and I think that they deserve to be exploited by me for my own selfish gain. I want to be a fashion designer, to work with the supple fabrics to use art as my communicative medium, to transform the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan, I look down at the sketch I was focusing on previously and drag my pencil across the page trying to pinpoint what is preventing this piece of art from becoming a masterpiece: Is it the neckline, maybe I should use a halter neck style rather than the sweetheart neckline? Or is it the skirt, maybe if I brought the seam from where the organza falls? It would create a more sophisticated silhouette.

'Cinna Darling, I just love what you've done with your eyes; it looks divine and really brings out the golden hues in your eyes, which are so gorgeous.' I am snapped from my work by Eloise Dafferweather; she is praising me yet again and I rearrange my features into a lazy smile: her father is the head stylist to President Snow himself and if I am to have any chance of becoming a district stylist he is the man to impress hence why I tolerate the company of Eloise and her insufferable friends. As for the eyeliner, I'm rather glad that she likes it but I am wholeheartedly surprised she does like it seeing as her definition of beauty is to dye your skin and have numerous body alterations; she has even considered having whiskers which would look God damn awful in my humble opinion. In all honesty most of the Capitol populace share her preposterous beliefs regarding beauty but I'm the black sheep in that sense, I understand that it is self expression but it seems totally unnecessary when you can use fashion as a way of expressing yourself and thankfully it isn't permanent. Oh, I've been silent a while; I flash a toothy smile.

'Sorry Eloise, I was just admiring your hair; I've heard that aubergine is this season's colour. It's amazing as to how you're so fashion forward.' I can tell that my compliment has mollified Eloise seeing as she is beaming from ear to ear and her periwinkle blue face is now becoming navy in its shade; before she can return the compliment I am drawn into a conversation I'd much rather avoid about a topic I'd much rather pretend didn't exist: The Hunger Games.

'Like guys, what are you like thinking about the like tributes, they seem like so like an amazingly like great set of like tributes like don't they?' There goes the not so dulcet tones of Tahmena Begumala; and I really think this girl could not be any dumber if she actually tried which is actually shocking. Now, although viewing of the Hunger Games is not mandatory within the Capitol but for some unfathomable reason they love it, they treat it as a celebration which confounds me: we are to celebrate life and mourn death, but these Capitolites are brainwashed into believing that this annual bloodbath is prime time entertainment. Maybe, it's me that is wrong; maybe I need to start enjoying the games but there is something disturbing about children hacking one another to pieces. The only parts of the Hunger Games that interest me are the Chariot Rides and the Interviews; it's all for the fashions, seeing the stunning gown and the delicate cuts of suits is entertaining enough for me: I don't need to see serial killings unless a tribute catches my attention, then I may support them through the arena. I just keep quiet and listen to the voices around me.

'That girl from one is just smoking hot man, plus she's a career which means she's a killer man. That just makes her hotter if that's even possible.'

'It's like hot boy heaven like, so many like really attractive like tributes this year: like 2 and like 4 and like 8 and like some of the others too like.'

'Okay I'm so putting money on the boy from 4 and his little district partner I'm betting on getting killed at the Cornucopia—'

'No, she's a feisty one she'll do really well. You know, I think you'll be surprised. That girl from 7 too she seems a bit of a loose canon, promising a good show… she better do it then or else I'll be angry as…'

'Oh yeah like, she volunteered like right? Like this year there's been like 2 volunteers from like poor districts, that's like weird. But like that boy from like district 8 is so like hot, but not like as hot as like 4 though.'

'Boy from 3 is a definite bloodbath, and the 12 year olds too… they're so boring. The girl from 3 too looks proper weird, like she's always thinking. Chicks who think are like scary.'

'Careers looking strong this year aren't they?'

I just try and tune out their shrill voices with their accents, I am from the Capitol yet I find no need to raise the end of every cadence to make is sound as if it is a question, nor do I feel some strange desire to hiss on every 's' sound; and as for diction, well to pronounce words correctly you need to open your mouth but with most Capitolites you cannot see them open their mouths when they speak, it's ridiculous. My attempt to remain out of this conversation is ruined however when I'm asked for my opinion on the tributes; in all honesty I was more than absorbed in my sketch book than the reapings and I only really noticed certain people but I'm 'meant to' be as enthralled by this barbarism as my acquaintances so I shift in my seat.

'I don't know that you should be counting anybody out, as you said they're interesting but I wouldn't be willing to bet on any of them yet. The boy from 3 may have some extraordinary talent; his district partner may be a psychopathic killer. And as for the 'hot' boys, they may just be a pretty face as with the girl from 1. I think I'll wait for the training scores and interviews before I decide as to who I'm betting on.' I think that is a vague enough response, it makes it seem as though I was absorbed in the reapings as they were; and they don't need to know that I have no intention of betting whatsoever, in fact they are all staring at me as if what I've said is gospel. That's the problem with people like Eloise and her cronies; you apply logic to a situation such as not judging a book, or in this case tribute, solely on their appearance it's just too much for them to comprehend. Oh how I thirst for actual intellectual conversation? Silence reigns for a while before Eloise opens her mouth.

'Oh my God guys, it's the Chariot Rides tonight. We have to go, see the tributes in the flesh and everything. You all coming?' I nod my head automatically, I may not be the biggest Hunger Games fan but I always make an effort to attend the Chariot Rides, solely for the fashion because I don't celebrate the imminent death of 23 children. Eloise, Tahmena and everyone else seems to not realise that if we were not born in the Capitol we could share their fate. Eloise beams when she realises I'll be joining them, I think I need to do some damage control.

**Here we go, just a little chapter.. Poll open, Review… Just the general shizz.**

**Back to the tributes next as we see their first glimpse of the Capitol and a few more tributes reflecting onto what they've gotten themselves into… Then we hit the remake centre… ;)**

**So in 3 chapters time we'll have the Chariot Rides… If you have any ideas what you'd like your tribute, or any tribute to wear then feel free to PM me with ideas but remember the tributes cannot be illuminated (No fire!)**

**Thanks, **

**Lawrence xxx**


	29. Likeability

**Hey my lovelies, had a bit of a busy few days so this update is a little later than originally anticipated and for that I really do apologise but hey… It's not everyday that you finish university and have to party HARD in celebration, but hey now that I've finished university I actually have some time in order to write and start churning chapters out like SUPER quick; this chapter is a little more reflection from tributes, maybe a mentor, and then we're heading to the Remake Centre so…. Yeah, Chariot Rides soon, but I also think I'm going to have some small things thrown in… Like a mixer ball for Victors which will be after the Tribute Parade which will be attended by Miss Rosalinde Snow herself… :D **

**Clorisa Orielle, District 11.**

I keep running my fingers over the small leather band which is tied around my wrist, the musical note etched into it puts a smile on my face; before I was reaped to participate in the Hunger Games I was constantly bullied for something I couldn't control and the one luxury I ever had was music. See, whenever you haunt the streets of District 11 you hear the soft sound of the Mockingjay's song; they were the only one's that acknowledged me, spoke to me: If I ever had spare time from my job boxing the produce of our orchards I would sit in the meadow near my house and just sit and sing to the peculiar birds, a volley of my soulful voice and their imitation; I could happily spend all my time in that meadow. Content and for that one moment, feeling as though I belonged.

The irony of the whole situation is that I'm finding acceptance, but the cost of it is that I am being thrown into an arena to fight for my life with 23 others: Practically a death sentence but I am determined to enjoy the experience; having spent a majority of my life being abused and ignored. This is my one moment to step into the spotlight, for the attention to be on me and for people to listen to what I have to say; to be the 'shining star' my father has told me I am ever since I was a little girl.

'Clo, how're you doing?' Nicholas is a nice boy, sweet and he seems genuinely kind but I know that it could all just be a ruse to fool me; I know that is a tactic that some bullies like to use but I don't want to confront him about it, and I know from experience that confrontation will only ever get me hurt: My ribs are still bruised from my encounter with the Peacekeeper, and Nic is also larger than me and I'm sure that he is every bit as capable when it comes to beating me and seeing as we're tributes in the 62nd Hunger Games: Killing me if I aggravate him. But at the same time everybody on this train is being nothing but nice, trying to make me feel comfortable in a world where I've only ever felt victimised and lonely. Not answering his question would be very rude; and I can't afford to make enemies before the arena, and even then I have no clue as to how I'm supposed to win.

'Very well thank you, yourself?' My voice is as soft as always and I can't bring myself to look into his eyes but I catch the smile that graces his feline like features; it is nice to be able to make somebody smile seeing as most people prefer to leer or grimace when I pass them or try to talk to them, Nic isn't like everybody else: I've never seen him around the District and I'm thankful that he isn't aware of my status as a 'retard' seeing as we're probably going to be allies within the arena, from what he has said his parents are advisors to the Mayor so they have money hence why I haven't seen him around.

'I'm as good as I can be, would you like to accompany me to breakfast?' he offers me his arm, it's such a gentlemanly gesture that I feel as though I've steeped into another world, another life: A world where there is no Hunger Games, a life where men offer their arms and take women's coats like in the stories my grandmother used to tell. This gesture also seems alien; nobody has ever invited me to accompany them anywhere, or treated me with such hospitability. I link my arm through his and smile warmly, he beams back and I think that I may actually have made my first friend.

'After you then Nic' it is rather unsettling that I seem to be talking so much, I'm the quiet, timid girl who tries to avoid any form of social interaction but on the other hand I may only have a few days left to live and I cannot allow myself to be scared of what will happen because the horrible truth is that 23 other children in that arena want me dead; Plus, it's nice to just sit and talk to people rather than the Mockingjay's who've been my sole friends for so long. We walk into the dining compartment to the sound of Seeder's warm laughter and Chaff dancing around the room, my giggle and Nic's chuckle alert them to out presence; Chaff blushes and hastily takes a seat and scowls: He has been trying to be the bad cop but he is just a perpetually happy, optimistic person that the façade crumbled almost as soon as we met him; Seeder is kind and nurturing and in all honesty I'm so glad they are our mentors.

'Good morning, you two' Seeder rushes forward to embrace us and however stupid it sounds I feel safe and as if nothing could hurt me, even the Hunger Games; I return her hug, holding on longer then usual as if trying to tell her how thankful I still am for her helping me yesterday with the Peacekeeper plus I want to hold onto the sense of comfort and stability the older woman radiates. She leads us to the table and hands us plates heaped with food, so much that it could feed my entire family for a week: fresh fruit, toasted bread with an assortment, mango juice and then bacon, eggs and anything else one could ever imagine. I drink some join and nibble on some toast, savouring the flavours and being careful not to repeat my mistake from last night: My stomach isn't used to too much food, but yesterday I gorged myself on the rich cuisine of the Capitol and ended up vomiting it everywhere.

'So, today we're talking strategy.' Chaff is glaring at me and Nic, and I can feel my district partner fidgeting in discomfort but I can tell that Chaff isn't genuinely nasty, his brown eyes are too warm to ever be cruel. I just stare at him, he stares back and I give him what I hope to be a tentative smile which he returns after a nudge from Seeder, however strange it sounds she treats him like a child. He clears his throat.

'Now we need to know your strengths, or would you like to be trained separately?' I look to Nic, this is the point when he has to decide if he wants to ally with me or just abandon me: I wouldn't judge him if he decided to try and find different allies because he seems strong and faces a good chance of winning, especially in comparison to me: emaciated to the point of malnutrition, weak.

'Well, I don't object to work with Clorisa but I can't speak for the both of us.' He looks at me, and I am shocked: I can't recall ever being asked my opinion, ever being the person to reject someone and in all honesty I feel uncomfortable; I have been talking a bit more but this change is a little more drastic. I just nod my head, I can feel myself sliding back into my shell; Seeder must of sensed my withdrawal as she reached over to place her hand on my shoulder and smile that warm smile of hers.

'It's good your allies Clorisa, you'll both survive longer. Maybe you'd like to start with your strengths.' I smile at Seeder, how am I meant to tell them that I have no skills whatsoever? I'm more of a survivor than a fighter, and I barely survive; I look into everyone's face: Seeder's encouraging smile, Chaff's curious expression and the contemplative curl of Nic's lips.

'I can't do anything, I'm sorry Nic.' I sound pathetic, why would Nic want me as an ally? He has been acting as though he is my friend, and if I were his true friend I would tell him I couldn't be his ally; I'd only hold him back and ensure his untimely demise but before I can open my mouth he just smiles.

'Well it seems we both have a lot to learn Clo, because I can't do anything either. We're in the same boat.' And there he goes again, he is so nice and I'm glad that I've been able to meet Nic; I've never had a friend, but I can tell he is the best friend I could have ever asked for. It's just a shame that he will have to die if I get to live and vice versa, it truly is a tragedy that our friendship will only be short lived but I can only be grateful that I've been allowed to taste the sweetness of friendship.

**Asher Blackwood, District 7.**

I am sitting alone at the breakfast table, eating all this luxury food and for once I am seeing the bright side regarding the Hunger Games; it truly is a once in a lifetime opportunity and yes the whole gladiatorial concept is a bit of a downer but the gourmet food, the luxurious furnishings and I'm going to be seeing the Capitol: the city that never sleeps, the city of bright lights and well I would be lying if I didn't say I wasn't excited to see the place with my own eyes even if I am revolted by their nonchalant attitude to the 23 imminent deaths; but I would also be lying if I said I wouldn't prefer to be back homes, working at the lumber yard and spending time with Ardis.

I eat my bacon and I'm really confused as to where the rest of the District 7 entourage is: I haven't seen Harmony since Sera threatened to beat her up, Sera herself has disappeared but when I walked past her door I heard things smashing and if I wasn't mistake: her crying, and as for Blight he just went to his room mumbling about 'angles' and 'spitfires' and I'm pretty sure the second was about my ever-so-charming district partner; see, I'm not fooled by her fiery attitude and I think she might be a softie underneath but I really doubt that I'll ever have a chance to see it seeing as she is so determined to keep everybody at arms length; which is a great shame as I can't doubt that she would be a formidable ally.

BANG! What? I hear a stream of extreme cuss words which I would never say in front of my mother and the only person I would suspect of knowing such foul language would be Sera, and I actually laugh; a hearty laugh, even though my circumstance is one more associated with trembling in fear: It's just it seems so out of place, such vile language from someone who appears so delicate. I stop laughing when Sera bursts into the room with a face like thunder; I'm actually scared to look directly into her eyes because with the glare marring her feminine features because I might actually turn to stone.

'What are you laughing at?' She raises her eyebrow and folds her arm and despite her petite physique, this girl just oozes danger and I don't want to be on the receiving end of her bad temper; I mean, she bashed up Blight's wrist pretty bad. She begins to tap her foot, her jaw clenching and her wide, blue eyes narrow: she's obviously expecting an answer and I do not want to get on her wrong side.

'Well, your potty mouth actually. You should try and cut back on the foul language, it won't help with sponsors.' She looks shocked, there is no other way to describe it; her jaw may have actually hit the floor and then BAM, she transforms before my very eyes. Her eyes widen, making her appear innocent and sweet when I know she is anything but, she smiles and it lights up her whole face; she defines feminine beauty and she flutters over to me before pecking me on the cheek. Did I hit my head?

'Oh Asher, you're just too funny.' She flutters her eyelashes and strokes my arm, I am seriously considering that I'm experiencing a very flamboyant hallucination because I know that Seraphine Connolly is anything but this sweet, innocent girl I see before my eyes: But it is too believable, I knew she was hiding this soft side somewhere and I'm glad she has showed it to me. I give her a small smile, maybe she'll reconsider my offer of an alliance now but I've spoken too soon, she snaked her arm around my neck and next thing I know my head is pinned to the table and my arm twisted behind my back and Sera is hissing in my ear, her voice laced with venom.

'Now Asher, I've already said I'll be able to smile when times be. I did promise the Capitol a good show after all, didn't I? I mean I'll play the part that they want: I'll smile and blow kisses in the Chariot Rides, get an alright training score and during my interview I'll epitomise charm, flutter my eyelashes and laugh daintily and then when I get into the arena I'll eliminate all my competition.' Oh my, she really is fierce and I have no doubts that if I encountered her in the arena she could take me down without batting an eyelid; I mean I'm quite modest but I know I could do some damage with an axe but head-to-head with Sera I'm pretty sure she could kill me with a toothpick. And as for making her my ally, well that idea has truly disappeared down the drain. The pressure disappears from my arm and when I lift my head I see Sera has taken a seat opposite of me and yes, however much it may compromise my masculinity I am not afraid to admit that she scares me a little bit.

'Now Asher, I'm sorry for being mean. Plus, I'm going to say this once so listen: I don't want to be some crazed bitch but I want to win and for that to happen I can't go around smiling and being friendly; the shit thing in this whole situation is that you're a nice person and you don't deserve any of it and it pisses me off okay? Right, if we weren't about to be thrown into some fucked up death match I could actually tolerate you and your obscene optimism and that is why I can't be spending too much time around you. I've lost too many people already and I point blank refuse to let the Capitol take someone else I love away from me, and you with your happy-go-lucky thing, it may seem suck uppy but it's damn loveable.' Okay, I'm falling back onto the head injury theory; that seemed well kind of vulnerable for Sera and I can understand her and I sympathise: I don't want to see anybody die in that arena and it would be a hundred times worse if I liked those people.

'I understand Sera, I really do. It is an awful situation and even I am struggling to see the bright side in all of this; I'm sorry if I've made it more awkward for you. I'll really try to be less 'damn loveable'' I just grin, we aren't necessarily 'best friends', but I think we have a mutual understanding between the two of us; but she grimaces and shakes her head before reaching out and jabbing me in the arm, not as aggressively: I think that it is the best type of affection I'll ever get from her and I risk giving her a light tap in return which brings a genuine smile to her face and shockingly it makes her appear different: Like the innocent beauty I know her to be, a girl who hasn't hardened to the world. She stands up and moves toward the door, before turning.

'Asher, you're a great guy but if you want to go far you need to remember… Don't trust one single person in that arena, because it really is your life on the line.' I nod my head, however optimistic I am I know that everyone will be trying to kill me and I won't be trusting a single soul in the arena; except maybe Sera, because I know she isn't as hard faced as she would have you believe.

**Ruby Ashford, District 1.**

'I heard that it glitters like a rainbow, and it really is the epitome of couture and culture and the fashions are just mind-blowingly awesome and everything would be so fabulous and I'm just so excited…' I try to tune out his annoying yelp of a voice but sometimes it gets too hard and gives me a God awful headache; so I decide to imagine the various ways I'll kill the nuisance, it's always changing but there is one certainty: I'll be sure to cut out his tongue, shutting the insufferable boy up, once and for all. But now is not the time to indulge in violence and for now I have to tolerate Mister Spinoza, but his time is coming and I can already feel the warmth slick of his blood coating my hands; maybe I'll gouge his eyes out with my bare hands, that'd be very bloody but also very fun.

'What do you think Rubs?' Oh, so he is still trying to make that vile nickname catch on? I swear that boy is trying to provoke me into murdering him before the games, whether or not he is doing it knowingly is not my concern; but I can rise above it because I am Ruby Ashford, the best of the best and I will not let some harmless fool get the better of me. He is not a perceivable threat whatsoever seeing as his own Mentor, Sheen whatever her name is, has given up on him already and we're not even in the arena yet; it really does seem as though victory is being handed to me on a plate. Admittedly there a few to keep my eye on: The girls from 2 and 7 and the boys from 4 and 8 but I've got my little puppy Nicoli to take care of those, I won't even break a sweat. So, even though I hate the idea I'm going to have to play nice with my pathetic district partner: For now, anyway.

'Well Nikki, it will be fabulous and we will definitely be the stars of the show… Imagine how great I'll look in the Chariot Ride dress? And you'll look great too of course; I mean we're representing District 1 after all.' He smiles at me and just stares out of the window, waiting to see the 'promised land' or whatever he calls the Capitol: He seems too desperate and everybody knows that desperation is weakness, and dearest Nikki is one hell of a weak link. I catch Platinum's eye and roll my eyes, after giving him my most alluring smile of course; I mean Platinum has definitely improved in the bedroom and I have the Capitol and all their little whores for that, he nods towards the door: Does he want me again already? His sex drive is through the roof nowadays, but I don't mind because not only is it pretty entertaining but every touch is helping me sink my claws further into him both physically and mentally.

'Well Nikki, seems like Platinum wants a quick strategy meeting so I'm going to have to go but we'll definitely be getting together later and having a little chit chat.' I give him the customary hug and air kiss and trail out after Platinum, not before hearing Sheen's muttered 'whore' that woman is practically green with envy and I seriously pity her, especially when I compare her to me. Platinum pins me against the wall as soon as the door closes behind me and well then we get down to business. Once I'm ensconced in post-coital bliss Platinum decides to actually try and mentor me.

'So, which one are you seducing?' That is an important, which lucky tribute will be my little consort within the arena: I eliminated 2 after seeing the girlfriend crying on the reaping replay and well Nikki, I don't think he plays on my team so that leaves Kai from 4. I could have gotten worse in all honesty seeing that he is rather attractive and could have held my attention and become one of my little lackeys back home but he's going to have to die.

'4, although you know I'll only be thinking of you whenever he touches me.' I know that statement is probably not true but it is essential to pamper Platinum's ego, he is the one who'll be negotiating my sponsorships and such so I need to stay in his good graces, until I win at least; he starts to prattle off about bloodbath strategy and everything but I just tune him out: I know what I'll do in the arena, viciously kill anyone who crosses my path, poison the other careers and torture anyone who is stupid or brave enough to try and cross me.

'Oh Platinum, I need to go. We'll be the Capitol soon and I need to go and meet my many admirers.' I kiss his cheek, pull on the red silk number I chose earlier and re entered the compartment, Sheen and Nicoli seem to be having a conversation but stop as soon as I come in; respect for my presence most likely, and Nicoli runs up to me like the puppy he is and gives me a hug.

'Darling, we're almost there. I'm so excited why aren't you as excited am I am?' He pouts; literally pouts and I have to restrain myself from pouncing on him and tearing those feminine lips from his face but I just plaster a smile on his face and act as enthusiastic as possible, before rushing to the window as the Capitol comes into sight: Everyone speaks of its beauty and how it shines like the most ravishing diamond and there words are completely true; The sky scrapers glitter all the colours of the rainbow and the pathways seem to be laden with diamonds and any other precious stone I could name and the people: eccentric but they all have a shine to them, although their beauty doesn't compare to my own they do scrub up nicely with their dyed skin and their cosmetic enhancements.

'Beautiful' for once Nicoli seems lost for words and I really don't blame him, and for the first time I find myself agreeing with my puppy: although this place seems so much more than beautiful, it is breath taking and its beauty almost rivals my own; I raise my hand and wave demurely to the crowd while smirking: I'm already playing the game, I am the seductive yet enigmatic girl. Nicoli just seems to be waving like some deranged monkey, not an angle I've ever seen before; but it makes me look better I suppose, I mean he should be more dignified and close his mouth because it seriously looks as though he is catching flies. They are going wild, and it's all me for me and I would be a bare faced liar if I said I wasn't enjoying every moment of it. Now that we've reached the Capitol the show begins and I have to ensure that I'm the own crowned Victor; they say that 24 hearts go in beating and only one comes out, well it'll be mine whatever it takes: As I once said deceit is one of my best friends and just like my sexuality that will one of my most powerful weapons and those other 23 invalids won't know what hit them.

Just as we're departing the train I bump into a devastatingly beautiful woman and I automatically want to scratch her eyes out because it is very rare that I encounter someone who is deemed as beautiful as I am and in many peoples eyes even more devastatingly gorgeous; why? This is Rosalinde Snow, and potentially a very affluent sponsor so I rearrange my features into a glowing smile. But before I can speak my gormless district partner opens his mouth and destroys any chance of the President's daughter ever sponsoring me.

'You're R-Rosa Snow, oh my goodness…You're a style icon and just completely fabulous. I've seen you perform the Nutcracker so many times…And little Blossom truly is an angel, she's just divine.' Before I can rip out his throat I notice Rosalinde smiling and she actually places her hand on his shoulder, well maybe Nicoli isn't so useless after all; if he can get someone as prominent as Miss Snow to sponsor us than maybe he will be a very useful ally to have.

'Thank you, and I'd love to able to talk to you some more but I have to speak to Sheen and it's rather important.' She actually hugs Nicoli, and then brushes past us to enter the train; Nicoli is in a state of shock and I have to drag him towards the Remake Centre; the flashing lights are blinding me and whereas usually I'd love to pose and answer all their questions I have another puzzle posed to me by Mister Spinoza: He has this likeable quality about him just like the puppy I describe him as, and if he impresses everyone like he seems to have impressed Rosalinde, well he'll be flooded by sponsors and well it would be stupid of me to turn on him too quickly.

'So, Nikki: How excited are you? I'm so excited about it all… And Rosalinde Snow really seemed to like you Nikki, it'll be fabulous if you actually get to speak to her. I heard that sometimes she sponsors people, you could be one of the lucky few.'

**OKAY! I admit the chapter is a bit like CRAPPY! But I got writer's block which is actually uber rare but I think its okay and next we're on to the Remake Centre; but remember to REVIEW! And I'll update tomorrow again hopefully… Anyone you want to see let me know! And let me know what you're thinking of these tributes…**

**Loves Yah, Lawrence xxx**


	30. Putting on the War Paint

**Aloha once again my readers, my writer's block has thankfully vanished for the time being so I can really get cracking on with some writing. We're in the Remake Centre now, so it seems that we're starting to really warm up and will be setting up the main plots and all that jazz soonish :D Now, let's get this show on the road…**

**Regina Rizetsky, District 12 Prep Team.**

Although it is rarer than a lunar eclipse, or maybe a solar eclipse: which is actually rarer? Now I'm confused but the point of the matter is that for once, Regina Rizetsky is actually speechless. As in confounded and totally lost for words: This girl, although it is exceptionally hard to classify it as human; this thing is definitely not a sight for sore eyes and although I am practically a miracle worker it is going to be very difficult, it could even be impossible, to ensure that this tribute starts to show some resemblance to humanity. I turn my well trained critical on the eye and turn to my little lackeys; I start to bark my orders:

'It's hair is lanky and dull, we need a deep conditioning so Amaratia get on it.' I glance to my turquoise headed apprentice, I can tell she won't last long in this business whatsoever; I mean she's staring at the girl as if she is about to burst into tears, didn't she learn a thing in training? It is our job to make these things presentable, not to actually care about them: The girl, Livvya her file says, looks affronted that I'm talking so bluntly about her physical misgivings; It is not my job to be considerate and I am not about to start catering to her every need.

'Cortina, that girls nails are chewed to high heaven; get some false nails and while your at it: Prepare a full body scrub, this girl is covered in dirt and we have the Chariot Rides this evening, now get me some disinfectant too. I don't know what diseases this girl is riddled with.' It's true, I don't want to catch something from this little creature from the coal mining district; it is almost part season and illness will simply ruin all of my plans. The girl looks as though she is about to cry and I honestly would slap her if I knew for a fact she was actually clean. Why does she deserve to be crying? Why would my words offend her? She should be thanking me, I'm going to make her look as beautiful as someone who looks like that can.

'It's okay Liv; we're going to make you look fabulous.' I raise my eyebrow at Amaratia, by trying to make this girl comfortable she is not doing as I directed: insubordinance is not something that Regina Rizetsky takes too well to, I pierce Amaratia with my most menacing glare and she cowers like the pathetic being she is: the woman should have been born in the districts of Panem, she lacks the sophistication and the decorum to be considered a true Capitol citizen. Then, as I am turning around I find the girl is actually smiling and I actually shriek.

'Oh my Panem, get a dentist stat. This girl needs veneers stat, if the audience she that smile they could potentially drop dead from fear.' I have to take a seat and press my perfectly manicured hand to my enhanced chest, I am definitely sure I have never seen such a horrific sight as those teeth: crooked and yellow, I simply recoil at the thought of how much bacteria festers in that mouth of hers, the girl with that lopsided smile: I feel like spiders are crawling across my aubergine coloured skin, I doubt that even turpentine could kill the bacteria. This Livvya girl is looking so upset and Amaratia is comforting her, I roll my eyes and stand when Cortina enter, her arms laden with products. I clear my throat.

'Now, girls it's time to get to work; we only have a few hours and we have a lot to do. Now Livvya, it may hurt but it is essential: It could earn you sponsors.' Livvya nods her head and smiles, thankfully with her mouth closed or I would've broken down and fled the room; I am stunned as to how she manages to maintain a such a sweet nature despite my cutting remarks, maybe she is mentally challenged seeing as I've heard on the grapevine that many of the citizens in District 12 aren't all the ticket. Cortina and Amaratia strike up a conversation with the girl as I blast her with the power hose. I had better get a promotion after having to do this.

Well after working diligently for hours I have once again achieved the impossible: this Livvya Howell actually looks human, with glossy black curls, porcelain skin and even though I never noticed beyond all the grime and the general air of unkemptness that she had sparkling green eyes and thanks to Dr. Armeudius she now has a shining white smile with perfectly formed teeth: Call me Regina Rizetsky the miracle worker. Now the girl just gives me hug, well I suppose now that I'm sure she's clean I can't really object.

'Thank You, all of you. You have made this experience ever so great. How can I ever thank you?' Oh, so she is thankful. It is good to know that these district kids have some manners after all; well now that we're all finished it's time to contact the stylist, he has requested that we apply no make up so now our job is finished.

'That is very gracious of you Livvya, now you'll have to wait here. Your stylist, Tinakbelle, will be here shortly.' We exit the room and Amaratia is almost in tears talking about how the poor little girl doesn't stand a chance, and in all honesty I agree; not that it concerns me but maybe 12 is a little young for the Hunger Games.

**Kai Thallasa, District 4.**

My prep team are all ogling me and even though one of them is a man I am not concerned whatsoever, ever since puberty everyone has looked at me; whether or not their male, female, homosexual or heterosexual, I can't help the effect I have on people and if I can charm anybody who looks directly at me. In fact I am thankful for my Adonis like physique and my handsome features, sponsorships will be rolling in. I look down and see how my bronzed skin seem to ripple as I roll my muscled and I hear the sighs from the prep team as they take in the exquisite form before them. It is difficult to keep the smirk from my face, if that is all it really takes to impress these morons then this isn't going to be much work at all. I decide to flex my biceps and I'm greeted with applause from my flamboyant prep team, I would refer to them by their names but in all honesty these tropically coloured birds are beneath me and all I need is for them to make me look phenomenal and in all honesty there was not that much to do.

'You look amazing…simply amazing…' The compliments seem endless and I just smile at them, I do look amazing and it is good to know that my devastating looks are recognised and their applause is truly flattering; the superficiality of the Capitol is yet another weapon within my arsenal: If they are so taken with 'pretty' things then it seems that my physical appearance is as useful as being an emotionless sociopath. I just give them my winning smile, thanks to my sun bronzed skin my white teeth seem to glisten and appear even more pearly white; I can already feel President Snow placing the Victor's crown atop my head.

'Do that Adonis pose again, with your arms raised…' I oblige, after all these people and their friends will be sponsoring me and I cannot afford to displease them and although I rarely feel emotions, I am very familiar with pride and vanity. Now, I am eager to see what my stylist will be dressing me in; all that I've managed to learn from the little flock of birds that constitute my prep team is that the look goes along the lines of 'less is more', which I think means that I'll be wearing very little clothing and that doesn't really concern me seeing as I'll be showing off my best assets: I'll practically be a magnet for potential sponsors. A loincloth constructed from golden netting, or maybe just a shell to cover my manhood.

'Any more requests ladies and gentlemen.' You'd of thought I just done something completely extraordinary by their reaction rather then just having spoken six meagre words, but what else could I expect seeing as my presence is so intoxicating to those around me? The one woman literally swoons and falls to the floor in ecstasy and another is almost hysterical, the only other man is hyper ventilating as his red eyes seem to travel the length of my body, he licks his lips and rather than finding it disgusting I wink to him in encouragement. Allow them to leer now, for I know that once I obtain victory they could very well become my consorts: for the correct price of course, yes I know the fate that awaits Victors who like me are fine physical specimen but that doesn't concern me at all: I'd be selfish not to pay back the people who sponsor me within the arena, with my body but not my emotions.

'No time for that we need to do your make up and we've decided on a pallet of gold, bronzes and autumn reds.' The woman who had recently fainted is back on her feet and hands me a flimsy cotton gown and I decide to wear it seeing as all three of these twits will be unable to concentrate if I'm baring too much flesh; I'm led to a chair and then they are flocking me yet again, I just close my eyes savouring the feather light touch of the soft make up brush on my face and along my abs: My thoughts drift and I imagine the multitude of ways that I'll be able to legally kill the other tributes in only one weeks time, piercing flesh with the tip of my spear; choking the life out of some pathetic tribute; disembowelling another and holding someone beneath the water until they drown, feeling the life seep from their limbs. I feel a smile curl my lips and then I notice the silence.

'Enjoyed your nap?' I open my eyes and I find myself alone in the room, the exception being some young woman with tomato red hair and overly large green eyes; she is very attractive and I rearrange my features into my winning smile, I mean it's just another Capitol woman I have to charm but what surprises me is that she isn't fawning over me like expected, instead she shakes her head and laughs in my face. How dare she, my charm is infallible and she should fall at my feet like every other person I've encountered here in the Capitol. She just stands up and circles me while taking notes.

'Now shut up, I'm not here for you to fruitlessly try and charm me into liking you: I am your stylist, Llanelli, seeing as you're 'perfect'; not my words, you'll be wearing very little ego and seeing as you have an enormous ego I'm sure that doesn't both you in the least.' I am shocked, and in all honesty I am feeling a little more vulnerable than ever before. Why is this woman not in love with me? I am too curious to not enquire.

'And why would my charm fail fruitlessly?' I try and sound nonchalant but the way she stares into my eyes tell me that she see's that my question is loaded with genuine curiosity; she chews on her lip and runs her hand through her hair as if contemplating whether or not to answer my question. I nod my head and she just rolls her eyes, I am seriously contemplating complaining because this is not what I expect from a professional stylist and once I win I'll make sure that this woman is disciplined accordingly; she must read my calculating expression because she just grins at me as if she knows something I don't, the arrogant little bitch.

'I detest arrogance, and I've encountered your type before: you don't scare me so the glaring is pointless. I may be intelligent enough to see through your charm but not many are so don't worry you'll still have sponsors. And on top of that, you're really not my type seeing as you have something dangling between your legs. Now you're outfit is in the garment bag, I trust that you're competent enough to get it on seeing as it only has to be knotted around your waist. I have to go, goodbye Kai.' The woman is so detestable but once I've gotten into my costume I admit she is genius; I am a God of the sea, fierce and stunning. I will be the blazing star in the Chariot Rides and nobody will be able to question it, but something is still nagging me about the stylist.

**Lacey Burton, District 8**.

If I were still the Lacey Burton who lived in District 8 I would be completely amazed by the couture gown I am wearing; every stitch is sewn to perfection and it encompasses everything that demonstrates good craftsmanship; but I am not Lacey Burton and I haven't been since my encounter with the devious boy who is my district partner but I already have a plan as to how I will demolish him within the games. Cecelia has been teaching me a few tricks and I'm more than confident that I am not the harmless little girl everyone thinks I am, I won't let the Hunger Games be the death of me; I have a lot to live for, whether it be something as trivial as continuing to work in my mother's shop and marrying somebody in a simple ceremony. Now I can see that this dress is nothing but a tool to be used in my campaign to become Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games, and yes I am very much aware the likelihood of my Victory is practically impossible but I cannot simply be content to die. I never deserved this, I was the sweet girl, hard working and content to just sit with my head buried in a book but I've found myself in this scenario and I've had to compromise the very essence of my character in a vain hope at living to tell the tale. But I long to return to being that sweet girl but I will never be the same however much I try to reassure myself that I will after having to transform into this little monster: the 12 year old girl who has no qualms about murdering another person if it results in my survival.

The dress really enhances the angle that seems to be built for me, one of the two 12 year olds in this years games: angelic, cute and just the smallest sweetheart; it is a mockery of how I used to be with my carefree youth and my radiant innocence, the very innocence that these Hunger Games have stolen. My hair is not in it's usual messy bun but arranged in gossamer curls that fall to the middle of my back which surprised me seeing as I thought my hair was much shorter but I always wear it up so I'd never know, my blue eyes are lined with white to make them appear larger and more child like and then my blush which is ever present seems to glitter thanks to the lotions and ointments applied to my skin throughout the 'make over process' which was most likely the most painful thing I'll ever face and that includes my potential death within the arena. See, it is very painful when every hair is ripped from your body, but I somehow managed to pull through while maintaining a smile as Cecelia suggested: she said it is pivotal that everyone falls in love with me, and that I'm the cute little girl which I understand is the key to me securing sponsors but how will they believe the sweet girl façade when I'm killing people within the arena.

'It's time Lacey, you look marvellous and the crowd will love it. Now follow me the tribute parade will begin shortly' I follow my stylist from the room and I feel my anxiety swelling like a balloon, in a matter of moments I'll be seeing my 'competition' for the first time, the people destined for death if I am to live but more than likely I will be setting eyes on the individual who will be extinguishing my life after only 12 years; I'm not really scared like I was before the reaping, I'm powerless to do anything but I am reluctant for it to begin because I can already hear a ticking: A clock ticking until the games begin, probably a timer until the moment I breathe my last breath, my heart beats for the final time. I swallow and Aneeta my stylist turns to look at me, her bird like features with the beak and feathers are hard to read but I think she is concerned, she places her hand on my back and walks with me, speaking in her melodic voice which is truly reminiscent of birdsong.

'Don't be scared Lacey, remember to smile and everything will be fine. Don't let the other tributes see that you're scared.' I nod my head, I already knew that but it proves to me that Aneeta does care enough to try and help me do well. I hold out my hand and she grabs it, looking confused and escorts me into the chamber beneath the Remake Centre which holds the Chariots and people turn to look as we enter but they quickly direct their attention elsewhere; presenting myself with Aneeta has made me look weak as if I need a baby sitter and not one of these people will look at me as a threat, which is fine by me because direct confrontation isn't the key to survival. I'm escorted to my Chariot to find that Lyle is already there: Looking very handsome as usual but also wearing that sadistic smile of his that never seems to leave his face.

'Oh little Lacey poo, are you scared?' He pouts like child and just laughs, Cecelia says my greatest weapon with Lyle as my opponent is his arrogance; he thinks this will be a walk in the park and if he maintains that attitude it'll just result in him dying even earlier in the competition. I just smile and look down, I don't want to argue because although I've pledged that as the female tribute of District 8 I must kill it doesn't mean I want to be making enemies, especially enemies as lethal as Lyle.

'No Lyle, I am happy: I'm wearing a beautiful dress and everyone will be cheering for me, it's just so nice to feel special.' He just snorts at my answer and continues staring off into the distance and I try to follow his eye line but I'm too short so I climb onto the railing and I notice what has caught his attention: The careers, obviously he expects to be a part of their alliance, well that isn't going to be happening if I have anything to do with it. Lyle turns to look at me and I smile at him as sweetly as I can.

'What are you smiling at little girl?' I don't answer; I just continue to give him the sickly sweet smile because the answer is pretty obvious: Mister Carrington, this 12 year old has just decided how she will ruin your little plan to join up with the Careers and there is nothing you can do about it without facing some extreme consequences.

**Chariot Rides coming next, I know we're not seeing all the tributes but trust me when I say that they'll all be popping up at least once before the arena :) and it may seem like I'm using other people's POV's a lot but don't worry as soon as we're in the arena the tributes will be the stars of the show… Well, with little snippets of what's happening elsewhere anyway! **

**You know the drill, REVIEW!**

**Loves, xxx**


	31. Marching to War

**Hello Dearest Readers,**

**I know it seems I haven't updated in a long time… which is true, but it is because of the recent sweep by moderators on the sight which completely decimated a lot of people's stories which I thought was pretty extreme and well I thought that if I updated any sooner they might blow it off the map!**

**This will be a shortish chapter and I am sorry but I'll be going back to regular updates soon enough and everyone who has stuck with this with reviews and such will definitely be rewarded in the long run ;)**

**So, now we move on to the Chariot Rides! And we'll be seeing them through the eyes of Cinna ;)**

**Cinna Despardos, Capitol Citizen.**

Despite my aversion to the multiple homicides that the Capitol sanctions on an annual basis, I cannot suppress my enthusiasm regarding the fashions which are featured throughout the stages that over time have become known as the 'Pre Games'. Tonight, I am lucky enough to see the Chariot Rides up close and personal which will be so important in my chosen career of becoming a stylist; to see how professionals work their fabrics and how they manipulate these materials in a way which reflects the tributes home district, although this is not always done in what I would deem a 'suitable' manner seeing as I think that the outfits are often too sexualised especially when some of the tributes are as young as 12. Eloise, Tahmena and their friends are seated either side of me and are almost humming with a barely suppressed excitement; I wouldn't be in the slightest surprised if starting jumping up and down and screaming like the unrefined morons I know them to be.

"I'm so like excited, like we're going to see the tributes like so soon. I bet they are like so, like hot." Tahmena is glancing around as if everyone should acknowledge the fact she has made an epiphany of some sorts, I struggle to stop myself rolling my eyes at her tendency to point out the blatantly obvious. Eloise is nodding her head, while leaning her head against my shoulder and twirling a finger through her deep purple hair which clashed horrifically with her lime green silk gown which was far too revealing to ever be deemed elegant in my humble opinion. In other words, despite her father being a major stylist Eloise somehow managed to pull off some rather elaborate fashion faux pas'.

"Yes Tammy darling, I'm sure everything will be fabulous isn't it always; but none of those tributes are as hot as my Cinnie Poo" I barely repress the shudder of revulsion that threatens to overwhelm me when she drags her claws up the length of my forearm, the feel of her crimson talons trailing against my bare skin is one of the most disturbing thoughts to have ever crossed by mind but by some miracle I'm able to arrange my features into what I hope is a flirtatious smile and not a grimace of disgust. She flutters her ridiculous false eyelashes and presses her body against mine and I can't help but squirm away, I notice her face fall as I execute this manoeuvre and then instantly rectify it by throwing her arm across my shoulders and giving her a wide smile which couldn't be more artificial, even if I had it surgically altered.

"Sorry I appear so distracted, you know how I get around this time of year; I want to work in fashion so I cannot afford to be distracted, however alluring the distraction mat be." Although what I said was a blatant lie that tastes sour on my tongue it has appeased her and should hopefully save me from any more harassment; she just gives a glowing smile before preening her hair, winking at me and turning to start some stupid conversation regarding breast augmentation. I breathe a sigh of relief, Eloise and her dimwit friends are pivotal to my future career as a stylist so I am forced to tolerate them and their narcissistic ways even though I can feel my IQ rapidly deteriorating every second I spend with these people. I look down at the binoculars I bring every year, but I doubt I'll need them seeing as I am in the 'majestic circle' as I am with such influential people; well people with affluent parents. A voice booms throughout the whole City Circle:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would like to take your seats, the Tribute Parade is to begin shortly." I can't help the quickening of my heartbeat, although I like to think of myself as morally superior to my fellow Capitolites, when it comes to fashion I must admit that I can be as flamboyant and downright ridiculous as them but at least I try to see even that through a rational lens. Throughout the whole stadium you can hear hushed whispers, people already talking of which tributes to sponsor. See, that is the main difference between me and a vast majority of the Capitol audience here today: They are only concerned with the tributes and how soon they will be slaughtered without just cause, whereas I am entranced by the fashion; how it reflects the district and what design techniques have been employed with the sole purpose of improving my own work. When it comes to the actual tributes, all I can feel is an overwhelming sense of pity for what awaits them and admiration for their courage with the only exception being the career tributes since they willingly place themselves into this precarious situation. I lean forward and place my notepad on my knee, a pen held in my hand ready to make any notes and then the siren rings announcing that the parade is about to being.

The blindingly white chariot of District One emerges from where all of the tributes are held beneath the Remake Centre where many Capitol citizens go for their surgeries when the tributes aren't occupying the place, it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the blinding light and the applause is so loud I think I may have perforated my ear drums; once I focus I scribble down the words crystals and silk which seem to be the major components regarding the outfits of the tributes whose names are Nicoli Spinoza and Ruby Ashford according to Claudius Templesmith's commentary. The girl is painted head to toe in gold paint and is covered head to toe in crystal and other reflective gems, I cannot discern if she is in fact wearing a dress but the effect is great; she looks ethereal and embodies everything about her district, the excessive luxury and if I were wearing a hat I would tip it to her stylist as the almost luxurious sexuality is further enhanced by her demeanour: Waving a blowing kisses and she moves her body in a seductive manner as she leans towards the Capitol audience from the Chariot. The boy is dressed in a silver suit made of fine silk if my assumption is correct and it is tailored to enhance his lean physique, whereas the girl appears to constantly glow this Nicoli seems to shimmer as his body moves, more subtle and more enigmatic. He beam into the crowd and I am able to ascertain that the material is pearlescent and reflects light in a way which is meant to allude to light reflecting from the facets on the face of a diamond as he raises his arm to wave enthusiastically; or that is my own stylistic interpretation. I continue making my notes at rapid speed scribbling words such as china silk and masculine tailoring, these are more of an indication of trends which will be appearing in the Capitol.

I have a few moments before the second chariot will emerge so I decide to indulge in watching the tributes; Nicoli looks as though he is having the time of his life waving into the crowd with his mega-watt smile still in place, he keeps touching his suit as if amazed by the texture and I smile. He doesn't seem like the usual career with this optimistic aura he is projecting but the audience love him all the same and a vast portion are chanting his name, charm is pivotal in this aspect of the Hunger Games and apparently he has this quality in abundance. The girl, playing the expected role of sultry siren is more distant but seems to be getting a lot of attention from the prospective sponsors, particularly the males seeing as she seemed to ooze sensuality; but I notice something more, the furtive glances she directs at her district partner and I am intrigued as to the status of their relationship. She looks at him wearily as if he is a subtle threat, and there is a calculating edge to her stare whereas Nicoli seems happy to ignore her and bask in the attention being given by the crowd. The claxon rings again which signals yet another Chariot ready to emerge, I adjust my note pad where I have just added a few quick sketches and once again look to the point from which the chariots emerge with my pen poised to start scribbling straight away.

**Sorry, it is my best friends' birthday today so I cut this chapter VERY short! I don't know where or not to continue with Cinna or introduce some tributes POV but I'm giving you this since I've been neglecting the story a bit as of late! But you know my reasons…**

**Remember to REVIEW and the next chapter will probably be with you tomorrow! :D**

**Oh and I've just surpassed the 100,000 word mark and have over 200 reviews which is astounding so … THANK YOU! **

**Loves yah, xx**


	32. The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

**Okay, the remainder of the Chariot Rides are going to be in a number of POV, I am not neglecting this story at all… despite the slower updates :S So SORRY for the long wait. It's just that the Chariot Rides are a little repetitive, so yeah... but I've got the whole story kind of drafted and my Victor chosen, and it won't change! ¬.¬ Unless I'm hit with inspiration! **

**I am trying to decide on so many things but I am going to power through now :D Because you all deserve it! :) Plus I'll be updating uber regular now! This chapter covers the rest of the Chariot Ride and the night afterwards.**

**Cinna Despardos, Capitol Citizen.**

After the aesthetic spectacle of District One, I was expecting for all other district's to pale in comparison but that assumption of mine was cast aside quickly as the chariot bearing the tributes of District Two appeared, to tremendous applause although the applause seems to have not ceased since the parade had begun and I anticipate that the atmosphere of desire and excitement will linger for the remainder of the tribute parade and into the night. In contrast to their career counterparts, the angle played with this set of tributes was not to highlight them as beautiful or charming but as deadly and unforgiving; my hand flew across my notepad scribbling 'masculine tailoring' and 'armour' and 'mythology'. To an educated mind like my own I was able to decipher whom the districts were meant to portray: The female, whom Claudius Templesmith tells me is Sandra Burghardt is a representation of thee Ancient Greek Goddess Artemis; the white toga symbolizes purity, virginity and innocence but Artemis was not only the goddess of virginity. Artemis also represented the huntress; this was blatantly obvious by the golden bow which the girl held in her hand and it is apparent this girl is anything but innocent but she is most certainly a huntress.

In terms of her physicality this Sandra girl was completely 'normal', you wouldn't pay her much attention under normal circumstances but seeing as she is a District Two tribute the audience knows she will be a deadly competitor and worth sponsoring. But she holds my attention for an entirely different reason, her eyes shine with some indescribable emotion; her eyes belie her strength, whether or not that is physical I do not know but if I were a betting man rather than somebody disgusted by the Hunger Game's sentiment I would keep my eye on this girl. Thankfully, I am being allowed to focus on the tributes as the vultures that are deemed 'acquaintances' are pre occupied with drooling over the tributes, thirsty for when their blood will be spilled. I swallow my disgust as I turn my eyes back to the condemned.

Her Grecian, asymmetrical white dress hangs from her left shoulder, constructed by silk I would assume by the way the dress hung. In contrast to the female of District One however this dress was not made in order to sexualise the tribute. The form fitting style of the dress brought focus to the width of her shoulders and her impressive musculature, a clever decision by her stylist in all honesty as it singles her out as the 'strong woman' and it is a renowned fact, by anyone knowledgeable in the Hunger Games, that strong girls within the arena are usually more successful than their pretty counterparts; you only need to have seen Enobaria Yenston to know that. Especially when such a girl comes from a career district.

I draw a quick sketch of her dress and annotate it with the words 'strong' and 'narrow waist'. I stare at the girl through my binoculars a moment longer, I recognise how she is different from what I expect of District Two females: There is a sense of compassion to the way her green eyes burn, a passion and determination that concretes my earlier notion that this girl is one to watch. Even though this girl seems to have to captured my attention, I realise I need to make notes on her district partners outfit. Claude Dew is a great physical specimen with an impressive physique and would be considered a contender but the first thing I notice are the boy's wide eyes, the gentility: This man before me is not a killer, he is a being of caring and love. I feel the clenching of melancholy in my stomach, although this boy was a volunteer I assume that the circumstances of said volunteering were different and that he would rather be anywhere but trapped in the Hunger Games.

Claude's chariot costume are modelled on the Ancient Greek warrior Achilles, with the bronze chest plate and the brown leather adornments; the leather skirt and the bracers seem to be encrusted with studs of gold, an inaccurate representation of the time but I suppose that such glamour is necessary when capturing the eye of potential sponsors. I write down 'warrior' and although that is what the costume portrays I doubt the word can be associated with the one that wears it. I can see that it shows his defined pectoral muscles and the well defined muscles which line his limbs but I know that this boy, if in a direct confrontation with his district partner, would perish. However, nobody else seems to notice what I have; I hear Tahmena's hushed whisper 'Oh, like this boy is like hot and like well like fierce.' I roll my eyes and return to watching the tributes.

Whereas I saw the relationship between the District One tributes easily, I am unable to determine a relationship between these two as they both stare ahead, seemingly aloof and unbothered by the screaming crowd. I scribble for a while longer, but I am return my eyes to the tributes of District Two a number of times in order to try and absolve the enigma that resides over their relationship but before I can dwell on it any longer, another siren sounds and I re direct my attention to the entrance to the Remake Centre. The multitude of hasty sketches and often illegible scribbling which mar my notepad are ignored as I flip the page, my pen held steadily as I prepare to take more notes.

**Aezir Marshton, District 9.**

Time appears to trickle by slowly, it seems as though it was eons ago when I was called at the reaping when in reality it had been less than a day; I stare contemptuously at my district partner Fiona, ever since she slapped me I have treated her with a cold indifference but I must admit that she looks stunning with the golden dress that falls to her ankles and hugs her feminine curves and then bronze headdress, she is natural beauty personified. She looks like a shaft of wheat bathed in golden sunlight, but I turn my back on her and fiddle with the lapel of my own bronze suit. This girl is determined to survive, but her determination will fail; with her crippled leg she would be lucky to survive the initial bloodbath and if she does I will not hesitate in ending her life. There is only one rule to the Hunger Games and that is to kill or be killed, so I will slash her and any other that crosses me like the chaff of crops I slice down back in the crop fields of District Nine.

Fiona glares at my back, I can almost feel the heat of her loathing but I watch as the chariots pass through the gates and enter the City Circle to the annoying commentary of Claudius Templesmith. These are the 23 other children who must die in order for me to survive, and I am intelligent enough to know that I need to learn as much as possible about my opponents and that begins here at the Chariot Rides. So far I have learnt that District One's tribute female is a whore who'll probably cry when she chips a nail and the male isn't much better; sometimes I'm worried by what defines a career district nowadays. I should be worried seeing as they've trained for this, a lot more than I have, but somehow they're both just vain, pompous and relatively harmless fools. Even Fiona with her crippled leg shouldn't be scared of them, well she should but any able bodied person wouldn't be too intimidated by what District One has to offer this year. But as I said, in the Hunger Games it is naïve to underestimate anybody so obviously I'll keep an eye on these tributes.

The District Two tributes seem to be warriors and before their chariot left I could see they were discussing something, rather heatedly and I feel something stirring in my gut, if there is discord amongst the careers already then that is something of an advantage to all of us that aren't 'privileged' enough to have received their bountiful training. As I made this realisation however, the girl who I think is called Sandra turns to look at me. Her green eyes pierce into mine and I have to prevent myself from flinching under her stare; it doesn't seem aggressive, in fact her stare is loaded with curiosity or something along those lines. What makes me flinch is that her stare says that no matter how much I've tried to prepare myself for the oncoming bloodshed, that she could eliminate me as easily as she turned her eyes to me. I breathe a sigh of relief as the District Two chariot leaves the stables, the boy didn't catch my attention but I know that I will be trying to keep tabs on that girl. The next chariot lining up for its departure is carrying the District Three tributes, on first glance they are both snivelling tributes destined for a death early on in the games, neither of them seem to physically catch my eyes with their plain outfits and pitiful physiques. The boy looks for want of a better word like a sewer rat with his dark hair, pale skin and scrawny body; dressed in a copper coloured suit with a silver shirt which I think is supposed to be , that looks baggy although seeing as we're in the Capitol it is tailored to perfection.

I am not arrogant enough to believe myself invulnerable, but despite the intelligence of most District Three tributes I cannot look at this boy as a threat. I pity him; for he will die I can guarantee that. The girl looks rather well built with her pale red hair, she almost resembles Fiona without the crippled leg but there is an intelligent air about the girl that makes me believe that she could be a formidable ally, and I would try and recruit her if it weren't for the fact that she was hugging the weak boy and obviously trying to mother him. She is a carer, and that will be her downfall in the games. You cannot care under these circumstances, it makes you weak and the weak ones never win in a fight for their life. She is wearing a pale copper dress that falls to the ground with silver detailing of what I think is a circuit on the bodice. They begin to roll out. I turn my eye to the next chariot to roll out, ready to analyse the next set of tributes who'll have to die if I want to go home, I swallow the revulsion that bubbles through my chest; I'm a little sickened at the my own willing to slaughter innocent children because that is what every single one of us are: Children. I quickly avert my eyes to see Fiona gnawing on her lip, her fear evident despite her snarky demeanour and even though her fear is only something I could use against her later but I just want to reach out and comfort her but I can't let something as trivial as physical attraction get in the way.

**Bala Eaglehawk, District 4.**

Today has been one of the most dreadful days I've ever faced in my thirteen years of life on this sodden Earth, and seeing as I grew up in a District that believed me to be 'witch spawn' that is saying something. I am confounded as to how these Capitol people can endure that cosmetic torture on a regular basis, I mean at 13 I don't really have any surplus hair but somehow the dreaded prep team managed to somehow wax me to within an inch of my life but that's okay as long as I'm 'Camera Ready'. I huff and fold my arms against my chest, holding onto the memories of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks back home in District 4. I saviour those memories of tranquillity, the whistling of the wind like a symphony that can calm my most worst states of anxiety; the loving caress of the ocean spray that makes me believe that one day I could find that one person who'll love me despite my reputation in District 4. If I close my eyes for a moment I'm back on the beach staring into a vast ocean of possibilities, drowning out the tremulous applause and cat calls from the crowd.

A small smile plays on my full lips as I promise that one day I will see the ocean again but then this small fantasy of mine is shattered and I'm dragged, unwillingly, back to reality by a voice that oozes arrogance, a voice that makes every muscle of mine coil in anticipation of an attack, a voice that I will silence when I enter that arena. I open my eyes to see Kai staring down at me, a mocking smirk dancing on hi broad lips and despite his obvious physical allure I cannot suppress the repulsion that wells within me. I turn away from him; we've already been at one another's throats and however much it would please me to gut the arrogant berk like a fish: The venue for our upcoming confrontation is the arena of the 62nd Hunger Games. I know that in the end it will be Kai who kills me, or I him. He chuckles at my ignorance of his taunting, I bite my lip as I remember Mags' advice: 'I'nore th' arrogan' little fool, watch 'im an' then we'll think of wha' ta do later.' Yes, I'll be watching him like a hawk and one little slip up on his despicable behalf and I'll swoop in.

"So Bala, you're a mermaid? Well, a siren. I think I'll make you sing before I slaughter you. How fitting that your song should spell your death, don't you just love the irony?" I turn to look at him and give him what I hope to be a disarming smile. I know what he's trying to do, Mags told me on the train that he'll be trying to get under my skin, exploit my so called fiery temper. Well he needs to get himself another strategy because I'm going to keep my temper on a tight leash, I've had to ignore taunts and maliciousness since I could walk and talk so what would a few more weeks mean? I look down at my costume and he's right: I am a siren but this siren is singing for survival, and for me to hit the final note then every other tributes voice needs to be silenced indefinitely.

My skin has been dusted a dusky pink and gold, beneath the bright lights I emit an ethereal glow; I am dressed in a golden skirt made from what appears to be golden fish scales which glitters, it clings to my skin but fans out at my feet like a fish tail. Then I'm wearing some weird corset style top, gold and pink sequins glitter in the light and I can't help but feel a little exposed by the style of clothing. It is very 'adult' and at 13 I can't help but feel awkward standing here in these clothes bearing all to the whole of Panem. I just smile sweetly and notice that Kai is in an even worse state than I but of course he wouldn't mind showing off his muscles would he? His skin is painted a powder blue and gold like me, but all he wears is a length of golden net which is knotted in a way that hides his manhood from view. Every muscle is defined and I know that the audience will have eyes for only the Adonis who stands next to me, with his shaggy brown hair and those dark brown eyes he will have sponsors queuing for miles.

"Ah yes Kai, very observant. I must commend your stylist. Not only has your stylist captured the essence of our district, she's also captured your personal essence: Complete and utter man whore. Maybe the sponsors will dish out because you parade in front of them practically naked but in that arena it's just you and me. That pretty little face of yours won't save you and neither will your sponsors." I flutter my eyelashes and smile as Kai digests what I've just said in my newly adopted sickly sweet tone. I see the flicker of recognition in his eyes, the way he leans towards me with an unspoken threat lingering in his gaze but I'm not scared at all. This little man likes to think that he's emotionless but I know that is a complete lie, and now the tables have turned and it is me who'll be exploiting his volatile temper. The tension continues to grow as we remain locked in a staring contest where neither one of us is willing to back down.

"Oh little girl, let's not be foolish. You don't want to upset me, because I hold your pathetic life in my hands and if you piss me off too much I'll make sure that you suffer that little bit more." His menacing whisper is bone chilling but I glare back into his eyes defiantly, my sweet smile still firmly in place. Despite the fear that I feel seeping into my veins I just roll my eyes and force a girlish giggle before we're called. The Chariot pulls out from the waiting area and we're hit with a wall of applause, I was right that all eyes would be on my district partner who is flexing his muscles and smiling. Women are swooning as he blows kisses and I remember what Mags told me: 'Pup, ya make sure you ge' noticed, mo matter wha'. 'Member, he can' hi' ya.' I whip my hair around and smirk as I hear the slap of sea shells braided into my hair against his bare skin, I step so that I'm in front of Kai. I don't concern myself with how he's reacting; I need to make sure that eyes are on me. Now that I'm standing in front of Kai I throw my chest out and wave both my arms in the air, I know I look like a ditzy blonde girl with no brain but that doesn't matter because amongst the chanting of Kai's name I begin to hear roars of my own. I simper around the Chariot, moving around Kai as though he isn't there and waving into the crowd, blowing kisses and shimmying like a complete moron but it's necessary. As we're nearing the end of the runway and I hear the chariot of District 5 emerge from below the remake centre I strut to Kai's side and sink my manicured nails into his arms and I hear his intake of breath.

"Well Kai, this foolish little girl doesn't mind upsetting you. Especially if it means everyone's eyes are on me and not you, you egotistical moron." I give him a cheeky wink and fold my arms as we wait for the other tributes to arrive. Bala 1, Kai 0 but he simply smirks, while he winks over to the female tribute from one. Oh so he is playing the flirt in order to get into the careers, I don't think that's a good idea at all. I could face Kai alone and maybe I could escape with my life in tact but with a band of careers behind him my chances disappear. The joy that I had been feeling after my spectacular display in the parade vanishes as quickly as it appeared; I just fold my arms and glare at the back of Kai's head hoping that under some mysterious circumstance he will keel over and die before we enter the arena. He turns and winks at me and I just shrug my shoulders, I'll be damned if I show him how his alliance with the careers insights the fear of God almighty in me.

"Yes little girl, upset me as much as you like but remember I'm guaranteed a place in the career alliance and you'll be there alone. So you can have as many eyes' on you as you like, because you won't have as many eyes on you when me and my little alliance tear you limb from limb." I can feel myself pale, he is right. In that arena it is me versus them and if I am to have any hope of survival then I need allies. Of the only tributes so far my only hope is to ally with the tributes from District 3, Greer and Lee I think and it is glaringly obvious they are already in alliance since she is hugging him and their heads are together whispering. They don't look necessarily powerful but neither am I, they look rather intelligent though. I mean District 3 is the home of the brainiest people in the whole of Panem and since I'll have no hope of defeating the careers with brute strength, I'll have to out smart them and these tributes could probably help. I'll try talking to them in training but for now I turn back to the runway where the parade continues to see if anybody else who catches my eyes.

**Rosalinde Snow, Capitol Citizen.**

I have spent the previous half an hour swallowing the bile that burns my throat, this whole process disgusts me: Parading these poor children around before the superficial invalids that seem to constitute the Capitol population, when they're all destined for death. I just long to stand up and to scream at them to run. To escape this death trap even though it would be fruitless. These children don't deserve to be pitted against one another in some Neanderthal display of strength, a tournament where the prize is simply a life. What makes it all worse is this pathetic spectacle of trying to make this communal killing some form of festivity: We as rational beings should not commemorate the death of 23 young people, who are losing out on the opportunity to love, live and laugh. I look behind me to look directly into the eyes of Satan himself, the serpent who lurks in the grass. My father stares impassively out at the 24 children he has sentenced to death, each of these children has his unique brand of venom travelling through their veins, 23 will die by his hand and one will live a life of nightmares and self loathing.

He orchestrates this monstrosity, he could stop it but yet he is content to sit and watch the bloodshed as cold and detached as ever. That is why he needs to be ridden of. So far we've only seen four districts but that is more than enough for me, the girl Ruby as cold and ruthless as ever. I've spent years playing the role of the doting daughter, so I know an actress when I see one and this girl is nothing more than a whore and I didn't need Sheen to tell me of her discretions with Platinum Hertzesky to know that. Then there is Nicoli, a boy who seems so sweet and naive and I already mourn for what he'll lose even if he is lucky enough to escape with his life. Then the 13 year old girl Bala, dressed provocatively at the tender age of 13. The sexualisation of such young people is diabolical, there is no word that encompasses the moral implications of such a thing.

Blossom is 'Ohhing' and 'Ahhing' as the other Chariots roll out, at her young age is simply astounding by the gaudy outfits and the general theatricality of the Hunger Games and I yearn for the day these games are abolished. I just hope it is before Blossom reaches the age when she can comprehend the brutality her Grandfather endorses. The District 5 tributes are before us now after having completed the circuit of the City Circle. The girl is crying and I shut my eyes, the devastation she wears on her face. Even though this Autumn girl is 17, she looks so frail and innocent knowing that death awaits her. Dressed in a silver dress that clings to her slim frame and adorned with sapphires crafted into the shapes of miniature lightning bolts she looks as though she would rather be anywhere but here and I understand that feeling implicitly. She stares at the ground, her shoulders hunched as she wraps her arms around her waist in some vain attempt to hold herself together. Her eyes are scrunched together as if she is trying to stop her tears falling and I take a deep breath to cool the rage simmering inside of me, why should this girl not be allowed to show her emotions? It doesn't make her weak, but she has to impress the Capitolites. And they want someone who is a mindless killer, not a girl who has been dragged from her home with a possible death sentence above her head.

Her district partner is also trying to appear strong as his smoky brown eyes smoulder with an emotion I cannot place, his jaw is set with determination and I would say that this young man is most capable of surviving. But this boy isn't some emotionless killer I've seen like Ruby and the male from 4. He tries to maintain this demeanour of detachment and strength but I can see through the facade and what I see causes a pain in my chest. The concerned glances toward his district partner, looks loaded with pity and caring. Not essentially love, but a compassion which is incredibly rare in the Capitol. His silver suit and the sapphire blue tie, colours so cold they don't represent him at all. The warmth of his gaze would be much better complimented in shades of red or orange. These two tributes have caught my eye, they don't deserve this. None of them deserve this.

I see that by now all of the tributes are before me now, 24 young people and 23 of them are going to do. There is no question about it, I trail my eyes and I see an array of expressions: Fear, anxiety, discomfort and then joy, longing and hope. The 6 tributes dressed in simple black unitards adorned with small wheels to represent their transportation industry, the poor girl is looking around and biting her lip as her wrings her hands. She appears so angelic, so innocent but an air of resignation lends itself to her character: Has she already accepted the cold embrace of death? Does she welcome it, to escape a world of cruelty? Her male counterpart just stares into the distance, hands fisted at his sides and I understand his motivation. This idea of suppression has been maintained for millennia to govern the world's population but in a world where we're deemed 'civilised', the sentiment of the Hunger Games seems too extreme. He seems to be taking deep breaths, eyes closed as he stands motionless as if wanting it all to be over. I just want to reassure them all that as soon as I am prepared it will all be over, my promise an attempt to reassure them that their sacrifice though horrific will contribute to a better tomorrow, a brighter future.

The 7 Tributes looks strong, standing apart and looking in different directions. They are polar opposites with the girl appearing dainty, dressed once again as a tree with a brown shift dress and a headdress of leaves. The stylists of District 7 have no idea of originality but that isn't the point, the tribute parade shouldn't be about the stupid fashions and the ridiculous costumes, it is about the 24 children who've been snatched from their homes and forced to fight to the death. The girl radiates the idea of being fierce and despite her petite physique she is no weakling and her eyes burn with a hatred so palpable as she stares up into the box of the Presidential entourage, an aura of rebellion engulfs the girl and I sit up straighter in my seat: It takes one person to light a fire which grows into an inferno and this girl could be the one. The boy is burly, a physique that screams strength but does he have what it takes to take another's life? His gaze is soft, his eyes shine with a certain tenderness and I feel sympathy for this gentle giant well within my chest. The brown suit and the green shirt, understated but it does allude to the idea of this boy being a tree: Tall and strong but defenceless against the evils of the world and easily cut down. Will one of these trees remain standing at the end of this, or will they fall? And if they do, will there be anybody to hear?

The tributes of district eight, Lacey and Lyle I believe, they look flawless in their couture evening wear. Perfectly tailored but if only the tributes themselves could emulate this flawlessness, if only they could be as easily read as the sharp cut of their attire. The girl, only 12 years of age with the world at her feet and too young to have experienced a lot of the world. The great shame is that she will more than likely face the sharp knife of a short life. She smiles sweetly, but I cannot suppress the thought that beneath the smile there is something more sinister. Her blue eyes shine with a sense of cold calculation and I think that this girl is either a devil masquerading as an angel, or an angel hiding beneath the mask of a devil. However sombre the sentiment is I can only say that time will tell, will this girl become a ruthless murderess or a 12 year old hiding in a hole waiting for her inevitable death and could anybody condemn her for whatever path she finds herself on. The boys handsome face appears expressionless but he holds himself with pride and an air of confidence that implies his flippancy about the Hunger Games, but his eyes shine with a hunger. This hunger though, is it for blood or survival? His calm composure appears unperturbed and I cannot guess as to what this young man hungers for.

District 9 are dressed like wheat in a palette of bronzes and pastel oranges and the effect is rather pleasant aesthetically, but I look beyond that. It is all about the condemned children wearing the clothing, the boy looks strong as do many of the others and like others he seems determined but he holds himself with his legs shoulder width apart and his eyes dart around as if to analyse each and every tribute. This boy is not simply a physical specimen, there is an acute intelligence residing in his brown eyes. The boy is not to be underestimated. The girl appears aloof, radiating confidence and glaring defiantly at anyone who catches her eye but this belies her inner insecurities. This girl despite her confident exterior is coming to terms with her potential demise and the facade is beginning to collapse, the glass is beginning to crack and I can only hope it doesn't shatter under the pressure. Youths having their innocence stolen, only one of the many crimes committed by the poor excuse of a man I am forced to call father. I shake my head as I see tears well in the girl's eyes as she looks around at those she will face in the arena, with her disability she is already at a distinct disadvantage. She didn't ask to be put into a situation where something she cannot help will work against her and more than likely result in her dying.

This is too much; the children standing before me awaiting death. I stand from my seat and nod towards my father as he heads toward the podium to deliver his speech. A speech full of lies, the truths twisted: It is not honourable to die in these sick games, it is a travesty and I cannot sit and watch these things happen. Tonight my letters will be read, the seeds of change are almost planted and then we must wait for them to blossom and for rebellion to consume Panem, the thorns to tear apart the fallacies of my father. The truth will be the sun which shines down upon us all. My father nods his head in return and I leave. The pieces are falling into place and soon it'll be the moment to initiate the second phase of my elaborate scheme.

**Sorry, this disappointed me... The Chariot Rides were never a favourite part of mine and they do actually make me want to tear my hair out and I know we haven't heard from particular tributes but you will... Training however, I love to write for so I'll be quick with that and then the interviews I don't know what to do! I'll probably choose certain tributes and just have others talking about their approaches maybe.**

**Alliance suggestions let me know...**

**Oh and REVIEW! Plus, the sub plot will be beginning to emerge and I have a special twist planned... but I don't want to say too much! **


	33. Plotting

**Haha, told you that I would be back pretty soonish. And since I've been rather slow on the updating front but I'm determined to return to when I was updating at least twice a week and luckily the chapters are going to be getting a bit longer :D And anyone who has stuck around despite the uber long wait for this chapter...THANK YOU! You will be rewarded...somehow :S **

**So this chapter will encompass the night after the Chariot Rides. It'll be changing between a number of perspectives. So yeah... Let's get down to the nitty gritty!**

**Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.**

Livvya and Archie have just departed for bed in preparation for the beginning of their training regime in the morning. It is 10pm on the dot and I will be waking them for their big day tomorrow at 7am, so going on the assumption that it will take one hour for them to shower and to wind down after the hustle and bustle of the Chariot Rides; that will leave them with the eight hours sleep required for them to be well rested and alert in time for training. I sit at the table and begin to run my fingers against my temple in a vain attempt to avert the beginnings of a migraine, on one hand the Chariot Ride went well. The designers 'artistic choices' have definitely brought attention to the District 12 tributes and I am more than confident that I will succeed in securing them sponsorships which will be vital to their survival upon their entry into the arena. On the other hand however the Chariot Rides were nothing short of a complete travesty and I know that both Livvya and Archie will be tremendously disheartened, and this could be detrimental in their success.

I know that tonight my dreams will be haunted by the image of Livvya's doe like green eyes shining with unshed tears of shame, embarrassment and any other negative emotion one can ascribe to a situation. Then there was Archie who stood with his shoulders hunched in defeat, but trying to remain strong with a forced smile upon his handsome features. It is totally horrific as to how District 12 was once again made into the laughing stock of Panem, and it isn't for my own reputation that I am horrified; it is for those two children who have been forced to parade in front of the whole country completely naked with the exception of black body paint. I am well aware that the Capitol is renowned for their bizarre choices regarding fashion but this is too far for my own tastes, neither of these children are of consenting age regarding sex and for them to be presented in a way that is sexualised is simply morally repugnant. Livvya is only 12 years of age; it makes me feel sick to my stomach and then with Archie who is upon the brink of manhood the whole debacle would leave him more thank likely feeling emasculated. The other tributes were probably laughing them; I mean who would want to ally with one of the two tributes who were paraded around the City Circle in the nude. To the other tributes the notion would appear as utterly preposterous; the concept of the Hunger Games may be serious but playground politics remain.

Tears threaten to spill from my eyes but I simply sniff, however dire the scenario may seem I need to maintain a sense of cool composure but it just seems wrong, however kind that the government may have been to me as a citizen of Capitol I am appalled at how little compassion is imparted upon the children of Panem's districts. But I am one woman and if I spoke out all it would lead to is me having my tongue cut out and living the remainder of my years as an Avox and what would that achieve. But my own welfare is of little importance as of right now, my main concern is for the welfare of those two children and trying to ensure that one can somehow survive the upcoming devastation of the Hunger Games. It is a steep task seeing as District 12 is a less economically developed district, poverty ridden and cast off as bloodbath victims with the games; they hardly ever get sponsors and if they do it wouldn't be enough for anything that could help them. But as I have said before, once Effie Trinket puts her mind to something then she will stop at nothing to make sure she achieves it. My mind is trying to formulate a feasible way in which I could bring one of my tributes back to their home district alive; I'm so consumed in my thoughts that I barely notice the slight knocking against the door frame.

"Miss Trinket, may we come in?" I turn to the voice and find Archie and Livvya standing in the doorway, having showered and resumed their normal appearance but looking much well cared for after their encounters with the prep teams. They look hesitant so I give them what I hope comes across as encouraging smile and beckon them in. They shuffle in and take the two seats opposite my own, sitting with their backs straight and their ankles crossed. I smile as I remember educating them in terms of their carriage and manners.

"Now what is it you would like to talk about? And do I need to remind you to call me Effie." Relieved smiles blossom onto their faces, as they glimpse at one another before looking back to me. Oh, I think I recognise that look: These two are up to something and I would be lying if I were to say I was not curious about whatever scheme these two may have concocted. I lean forward as Archie clears his throat and Livvya gnaws delicately on her bottom lip, I wonder as to what has caused them to be so anxious.

"Well Miss Trinke- Sorry, Effie. Even though I said that I didn't want to ally with Livvya on the train, we've spoke about it and we both think that it would be for the best if we made an alliance. Well, because the other tributes probably won't want to work with us. Well two of us have a better chance if we stick together. Erm...what do you think?" Livvya is nodding her head wildly in agreement and I do smile, but I think about what he has said regarding the alliance before offering my opinion. It is statistically correct that they have a better chance of survival if they were to stick together, and if one of them is to emerge as the Victor they need to survive as long as possible but then there is the possibility that if they develop a friendship of sorts and then it comes down to those two. Well the whole scenario is devastating, while I've been playing through various scenarios in my head my two tributes have been waiting for my response with bated breath.

"I think that it is a fair idea but tomorrow we will have to discuss the duration of such an alliance. Now I really must enforce that you go to bed for tomorrow will be a big, big day and I wouldn't want you being sleep deprived. Furthermore, we'll be developing training strategies over breakfast; both of which will be especially designed for what we believe will best benefit you. Goodnight." Livvya and Archie both stand from their seats and head towards the doors that lead to the bedrooms, they give me smiles which I return and as soon as they've almost gone little Livvya turns. Her lopsided pout in place and her wide green eyes are burning with curiosity.

"Where is Mister Haymitch, Effie?" Now that Livvya is the million dollar question. All I know is that I cannot give her an accurate answer regarding her mentor's whereabouts, seeing as I am clueless as to where he has disappeared off to. At the conclusion of the tribute parade he was brought a telegram by an Avox and disappeared without telling me a single thing, I really hope though that it is something regarding the welfare of his tributes. If he turns up reeking of alcohol I will be extremely disappointed: 'We' were meant to be devising training schedules, 'we' were meant to be ensuring that Livvya or Archie would survive this but rather than consulting me he has disappeared on a whim. His tributes self esteem was already low after the awful styling of the Chariot Ride, now he appears to abandon them and that will destroy any shred of confidence they possess. I can't let that happen. I turn to Livvya and see that Archie is standing behind her and they are both awaiting an answer, I need to handle this carefully: They need to feel inspired not disheartened so I arrange my features into what I hope is an enigmatic smile.

"Haymitch is currently negotiating sponsorships while I devise your training schedules, even though your chariot outfits were crude they have garnered a lot of attention and a lot of people are interested. Now you know that I want you to go to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning. I hope that our little chat has put your minds at ease. Now off you go or you won't have a schedule to speak of and by now you are both aware of my fondness for schedules." My words have the desired effect, both of them chuckle at my humour and head towards bed with small smiles on their faces upon their realization that maybe not all hope is lost and it warm my heart to see that twinkle in their eyes. Once they've left I return to staring at the table and massaging my temples, I need to give them that hope and seeing as Haymitch has disappeared off the face of the Earth the task falls to me alone but that doesn't concern me right now. All I know is that I have a long night ahead of me, but it will all be worth it in the end. Even if Haymitch has gone back on our vow to work together to bring home a District 12 Victor, I am as determined as ever and the key to success is efficiency and I will strive to surpass even my exorbitant standards of efficiency. I click my fingers and an Avox silently glides to my side.

"Now, I need a notepad and a pen. And bring a selection of highlighters, in various colours of course. And grab my daily planner which you'll find in my bedroom. Also if you could take the time to bring a telephone and my address book, I have a few calls to make. Finally, I'll need coffee. A lot of coffee, and while you're at it I would enjoy some French fancies. Effie Trinket has a lot of work to do." And all this work roots down to the Hunger Games, everything does. The political mess, everything and there is one word that slips from my lips that voices my opinions on the matter perfectly.

"Barbaric."

**Galen Agretto, District 5.**

However rude it may sound: Thank God that is over. Admittedly the Capitol has been nothing but hospitable since we arrived although the 'make over' process was borderline torture with all those cosmetic treatments and implements. I respected what the way in which they enhanced my appearance, the precision in which they removed bodily hair; To say that I grew up in one of the districts I have always been rather well preened and my appearance has always been something I have prided myself upon although I am glad to say I am not essentially vain. The prep team truly did work miracles though and once I had time to catch my reflection, I am confounded by the alien who stares back at me with his smoky brown hair perfectly coifed and his eyebrows shaped in a way that draws attention to his almond shaped silver eyes which seem to glisten in the artificial lights of the Capitol; it is astounding as to how something as the shape of an eyebrow can change an appearance so starkly, my cheek bones seem higher and sharper and my jaw seems chiselled. It reminds me of the salves and concoctions me and my mother would make back in home in District 5, how the addition of one root or herb could completely alter the purpose of such a remedy or the effect it has on a patient. The nostalgia brings a quirk to my lips which would be a full blown smile if I didn't find myself in the predicament of having to fight in the 62nd Hunger Games, the aroma of boiling roots and herbal salts a phantom lingering in my nostrils makes the homesickness hit me in the gut.

The reflection staring back at me is a man, the man I could one day be. The reflection seems elegant, refined and glamorous; a world apart from the humble and hard working boy I was only days ago. This reflection is one which belongs to a Victor, an esteemed citizen of Panem: Adored, but for this to become my destiny I must go against everything I believe in. Although I am not a fully fledged healer, I stand by the sacred oath that I will never bring deliberate harm to another. To emerge as the Victor I will have to do a lot more than 'deliberately harm' another, I will have to take their life which is a concept which morally repulses me. This moral dilemma has been plaguing me since the fateful moment when Georgiana Hertz called my name at the reaping, in a matter of days I am entering a cesspool of deceit, violence and murder. And I am still clueless as what to do, to stick with what I believe and die knowing that I never compromised the Healers Oath or do I try to survive and become what I despise in the hope that if I somehow win then I will be able to do a little good in a world plagued by poverty, prejudice and disease.

But right now, the biggest thing on my mind is not this moral quandary. The stimulus for my sleepless nights, the constant state of anxiety, the stimulus for my lack of focus. It all comes back to that girl: Autumn Thorn. A girl whose existence I had never noticed in my previous 17 years back home in District 5, she was known to me only as the sweet girl whose father was involved in a tragic power plant incident and however unbelievable the idea is I think that there is something about the girl. Similar to how a bee is drawn to honey, there is something distinctly alluring about the auburn haired girl; she reminds me of a porcelain doll, behind her feminine beauty there are scars. Emotional traumas which lurk beneath the surface, maladies I long to heal and since this whole Hunger Games fiasco begun she appears to be more broken than usual. Since the reaping I haven't seen her smile once, never have I seen the sparkle of joy dance in her eyes and for some unfathomable reason I find myself nursing an irrational desire to be the one who makes that smile light up her face. Under any circumstances I wouldn't be cautious regarding my instant attraction to the girl but in a situation when at least one of us is guaranteed death, our 'budding romance' is nothing short of a tragedy; This isn't love, I know that but what if it could blossom into something like that. Could I watch her die? Would I die in order to protect her? These have been the thoughts that have been playing on loop in every waking thought and manifesting in my dreams.

But then there was the kiss. Why did she have to kiss me? I mean, all it has achieved is to just multiply my previous concerns tenfold. Every second that ticks by means that at least one of us is a second closer to death and maybe I could ignore it, but I can't ignore the way I felt when she kissed me. Over the last couple of years I have kissed a few girls in the district and I wouldn't be lying if I said that they did invoke certain reactions in me as they would in any teenage boy. But with Autumn it was, mind the cliché, different; it was like a page torn from the trashy romance novels Mariella can be seen reading: the butterflies in my stomach, my heartbeat racing at such a speed that I thought that it would burst from my chest like a bird about to take flight. The transformation in her was instantaneous too, no longer was she a fragile girl with tears streaming down her face. She was a woman, standing tall and proud, with a fire burning in her eyes. She radiated power, confidence and in that moment I was mesmerised; it really does sadden me to see a girl who can be shining like a star one moment be reduced to a quivering wreck all because of the Hunger Games. I slam my fist into the oak chest of drawers in frustration although I immediately regret it, my knuckles are throbbing and I am able to ascertain rather quickly that they are neither broken nor dislocated. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt, the throbbing sensation tells me that the area will be swelling pretty soon unless I apply a cold compress and while I'm getting that I may as well see if I could find something to help me sleep since tomorrow training begins. Upon realising this I feel like slapping myself in the face, how am I meant to fully utilise the training period with a hand that I self prescribe needs at least a day of rest; so it is with a sense of self loathing that I shuffle to the kitchen.

"So you can't sleep either Galen?" I jump in surprise as I hear Autumn's voice, melodic and flutelike. A sound so beautiful and so delicate I could listen for days on end, but it is unusual to hear Autumn speaking without her voice being besmirched by sobs, muted by her devastation or tainted by the aura of melancholy she has surrounded herself with since the realisation of her more than likely upcoming death. I just stare at her rather than responding, completely floored by the contrast to the girl I stood alongside during the Tribute Parade. She is no longer crying helplessly or consumed by fear. She looks more mature, a woman not a girl, a woman who stands to her fullest height with her shoulders relaxed and her eyes shine with intelligence. This isn't a girl overwhelmed by her emotions, but rather one whom keeps a tight leash on any emotion. Calm and collected, her full lips are set into a straight line and her arms folded against her chest; earlier I would have said my reflection held the bearings of a Victor but that sentiment seems ridiculous considering the sight before me. The girl standing before me is an avenging goddess bathed in the liquid silver that is moonlight, and in this moment I have no doubt she could win. Autumn just raises her eyebrow and I know that she is expecting an answer.

"Ummm...yes, I have had trouble sleeping lately and I've come to look for something that could help remedy it...I could get something for you too if you would like Autumn as I know that today has been very stressful for you, for both of us..." I internally wince at the awkwardness of my response, I have always been rather proud of my eloquence and efficient bedside manner but today I couldn't seem to find any words. She smiles and nods her head and once again she has changed before my eyes; not a weakling girl drowning in her own tears or the avenging goddess. Right now she appears to be a normal 17 year old girl as they playful smile curls her lips, and I shake my head try and focus. I've heard of afflictions of the mind, examples of people having multiple personalities in one body but I shake my head at that ridiculous idea. Autumn is in the same position as I, on the brink of adulthood and struggling to find who she is with the pressure of the Hunger Games hanging over her head. I quickly fix two cups of hot chocolate before handing one to Autumn who accepts it with a grateful nod and I find myself smiling at her, I shake my head to try and regain some resemblance of focus. We just stand there in silence but it isn't awkward, we're both basking in one another's company: Nobody telling us about training or manners, it's just me and Autumn clinging to these last moments of relative normality. Once we're finished Autumn carries our cups to the kitchen where an Avox will clean them later and then heads towards the doors that lead to the sleeping quarters before turning back.

"Goodnight Galen, I really enjoyed the hot chocolate. Oh and by the way, I'd get some ice on that hand of yours as soon as possible or it'll be too swollen to use tomorrow. See you in the morning bright and early for training." At the mention of training her bright smile dissipates and her eyes widen with trepidation, I feel my own smile slide from my face as I note that tomorrow it really does begin. It is only four days now until we're forced into an arena to murder one another in cold blood. But it isn't too long until I feel a blush warm my cheeks and I know that I'm probably glowing crimson despite my olive complexion, how did Autumn notice my hand? I thought she'd be too consumed by her thoughts to notice something so trivial but it isn't the first that she surprised me, maybe I was too keen to underestimate her seeing as she always seemed to be crying. As soon as she's about to leave I seem to realise I have some control over my vocal chords.

"Autumn, wait. I was wondering if you'd consider forming an alliance?" I don't know why I'm so nervous, Autumn is rarely seen without tears in her eyes and has never struck me as formidable and in all honesty there is a strong likelihood that she would be more of a hindrance than a help. But as she turns back I note the pained expression gracing her delicate features, as if she is torn or more accurately caught between a rock and an equally hard place; I feel as if someone has punched me in the gut. Autumn is able to rearrange her features into a comforting smile but she cannot hide the speculative expression which lingers in the set line of her mouth.

"I'll think about it..."

**Seeder Fernwright, District 11 Mentor.**

I'm running a little late for the appointment, but whomever was summoning me will have to accept that. My only business until recently was as a Mentor to my tributes and that will always come first, I won't allow anything to get in the way of that. Poor Clo and Nic being dragged through the City Circle all dressed up like prized poodles at a dog show thank the good Lord above that for once their costumes weren't entirely ridiculous , poor children dragged from their homes to compete in some display of 'honour' and 'valour'. Although with Chaff as my partner I have to try and maintain some semblance of objectivity and try to maintain some form of emotional distance but really the whole thing is simply laughable. What does the blasted government think murdering 23 children every year every year will honestly achieve? I swear they may as well send invites out asking for mutiny and bloody open warfare with the districts, but saying that aloud will most definitely get me involved in one of those 'accidents' our twisted President favours. And I know for a fact that my status as Victor won't help me one little bit, I've seen one too many of my fellow Victor's die from so called 'mysterious circumstances' after being too outspoken to believe that they're all simply coincidences. As I bustle towards the room I've been summoned to, I grab the telegram I received after the Chariot Rides from the pocket of my lime green, silk jacket:

_Miss Seeder Fernwright, _

_You are summoned to Warehouse A, found adjacent to the Training Building. Be there at 10.15pm and it is detrimental that you tell nobody of this for it is time for we to stand as one and to bring on the fire that will one day melt the Snow._

_Yours Most Sincerely,_

_The Perfumed Thorn._

Well, whoever sent this isn't really the most learned person when it comes to discretion. I mean naming the meeting place is definitely not the smartest move one could make and then you have the time and a not so subtle insinuation of the meetings agenda; because if I'm right, and women of my age are gifted with infallible intuition, this is about some kind of rebellion: It's been tried before and I've seen them all be squashed before they come to fruition. So why am I going to this little rendezvous? Because I know that Chaff will be there and I need to keep an eye on him, despite his age the boy is so immature that I need to be there to make sure that he doesn't do anything stupid. Call it an old woman's intuition. At least whoever sent the telegram had enough brains to not give their name, I look towards the building I'm meant to be and rehearse the monologue I've got planned for Chaff when I get my hands on that boy but before I can step out towards the road something grabs me from behind. Yes, I'm an old woman but I'm still a Hunger Games Victor and I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve. I sink my elbow into his stomach before stamping down on his foot, the grip on me slackens and I pull away. I turn around ready to sock whoever it is in the face but what I see almost gives me heart attack. An Avox, those little people wouldn't usually hurt a soul and it is that thought that stops me in my tracks. Whoever it is, they're holding their stomach in pain and I've got say I'm more than a little satisfied that I haven't lost my touch. Well at least I know what all the Capitol escorts are on about when they're moaning about the 'poor service', especially if Avoxes are beginning to make a habit of attacking people in the street.

"Young man, why were you trying to attack me? And let me warn you now, try any more funny business and I'll be sure to give you a good slap before I tell the authorities." The dark haired man is shaking his head and pointing at something but I'm no fool, you don't need to have won the Hunger Games to know that you never turn your back on someone who tried to attack you. I fold my arms across my chest and he starts pointing at my chest, oh he didn't mean to try and defile me did he because I'll give him the biggest beating the man has ever known, he'll be in more pain than when they cut out his tongue but before I can finish this train of thought he starts to walk away while gesturing for me to follow him. Humph, I slide my hair pin out and hold it like a dagger in my hand, if I'm following him I'm not going unprepared. I follow at a safe distance but eventually I have to get closer since we're taking so many twists and turns I can truly say that I'm lost, but I definitely know that this is a part of the Capitol I've never seen and I've been here a fair few times. In no time we arrive at a dingy cabin that makes me stop in surprise, this isn't what you expect in the Capitol. You expect tall skyscrapers made from the finest materials, not wooden shacks that look as though they're about to collapse in on themselves. I look towards my Avox guide who points to me then the door and then starts nodding his head, I raise my eyebrows to let him know that if anything happens I will haunt him until the day he dies.

I push open the door which creaks as though it is about to fall from its hinges, and even though I come from District 11 I almost wretch at the repugnant stench emanating from the rooms beyond. Never thought you'd find the smell of rotting flesh and fish guts in the Capitol, if I had any family I'd definitely be writing home about this. I step into the room and I swear I could have died of shock, a large mahogany table fills the room surrounded by mismatched chairs but the biggest surprise is the people who fill the chairs. Well at least I know where bloody Chaff got off to, he flinches when I send a withering glare his way and I nod in approval: At least he knows he deserves the ear bashing he is about to get. He's safe for now as I take in the familiar faces who fill the other chairs: Sheen from district 1 nods her head and I nod back; You've got Beetee who gives me a quick wave and Wiress who gives me one of her smile, then there is Mags, Blight, Cecelia, Woof, Pepper, Austin and Haymitch. I am just about to give them all a stern talking to regarding their blatant negligence of their tributes when I am struck by a sudden thought. What is this, some Mentor meeting? And why are only Because I'm a bit confused as to why we didn't meet in the Training Building, because it is a hell of a lot more sanitary and I grew up in a place where there is no such thing as a sewage system. I just stare before a voice resonates throughout the room and I think it wise for me for me to take a seat.

"Now that you have all arrived it is time to begin, I'm sure you're all wondering why you have been asked here. It is time for there to be a few changes, and the first change needed is the end of Snow and for the abolishment of the Hunger Games. You've all been chosen because I deem you trustworthy, if you're unwilling to take part in this pursuit of change I encourage you to leave now and to never speak of this again or I will personally remove your tongue." I gulp and look around and I can see the exact expression of disbelief mirrored on everybody else's face with the exception of Mags who looks as if she's heard all of this before and is rather bored. Who the hell is this? Nobody stands to leave because deep down we all know that things need to change but what are we meant to do? And who does she, because the voice was definitely female, think she is threatening to cut out our tongues? I'd give her a right piece of my mind. My questions are on the tip of my tongue.

"I am glad you have all remained to stay, thank you. Now the first thing is that we're not alone, but first I think introductions are in order. First let me introduce my accomplice, Plutarch Heavansbee." My hand flies to my mouth in absolute shock; the man who steps to the head of the table is most definitely a Capitolite. I know this because this man is a Gamemaker although he recently missed out on the role as Head Gamemaker to that Seneca Crane who I would give all the gold in the world to give a good slap. Whatever this rebellion business is about it must mean that it's serious seeing as we have a Gamemaker in our midst. We're all speechless but you can still hear the intake of breath as the next person emerges from the shadows: The insanely beautiful blonde bombshell that is Rosalinde Snow. If I weren't sitting down I am certain I would have collapsed in shock. Austin is grinning and looking the young woman up and down and I tut at his behaviour, everyone else seems to be trying to pick their jaws up from the floor. My hand is resting against my chest because something like this could probably give me a heart attack or some other kind of coronary defect at my age, and with that thought my eyes find Old Mags who may have keeled over from the shock of it all. But no Mags is sitting in her chair with her arms crossed and nodding approvingly.

"Aye I'd be' me life tha' this will go a lo' better than las' time." That sly old dog, I'd heard about attempts of rebellion in the past as all of us have but I thought that everyone involved was killed for their 'little indiscretions', seems that Mags is full of secrets and has a few things she could be teaching us so none of us are killed for our involvement in this debacle. Although I know a rebellion is necessary and that it could be all 'Happily Ever After' even if that outcome is unlikely but all I can think is: Whatever on Earth have I gotten myself into? The President's daughter, a Gamemaker and the motley crew of Victors leading a rebellion. I'm too old for this so I haven't a clue as to how Mags and that are feeling. The air is humming with anticipation, excitement and anxiety but silence reigns as Rosalinde opens her mouth once again, I wonder what this young woman has in store for us all...

**Haha, don't think you need to anything else about the little meeting... everything will come out eventually! Training is next and it'll be a chapter a day, unless I think it might need more PEZAZZZ and then I'll put little bits in. The tributes are going to be the sole focus until the beginning of the games, we'll still see some Mentors and a bit of Rosa but they will probably keep popping up every now and then... **

**REVIEW! Let me know what you think and everything.**

**Thanks for reading my lovelies. **


	34. Hi Ho It's Off To Training We Go

**Back again! I'm SUPER inspired right now in regards to this story so I'm using quite a bit of my spare time to get as much writing done as humanly possible ;) Thanks to all my readers, especially those who are still reading after I decided to disappear off the face of the Earth! **

**So, here's training...**

**Sandy Burghardt, District 2.**

Today is the first day of training and I am 95% certain that I've gone and developed some form of repetitive eye strain from how much I've been rolling my eyes as of late, which is going to be absolutely fabulous for me seeing as I won't be able to see a target. Never mind hitting it with a blade. This whole Hunger Games fiasco has been a nothing but a farce, I mean what was the point in dolling all of us tributes up like royalty one day and then throwing us into an arena to kill one another like savages the next, hence the eye rolling. And what makes it all so much worse is that isn't even the worst part. Luca has always old me that my tendency to roll my eyes almost constantly is a bad habit, but he's not done the whole one mile in my shoes thing so whatever he had to say as of right now means jack shit in my eyes no matter how much I love him. See, the most exasperating this about this situation is not the fact that I've practically committed suicide by volunteering for these blasted games.

No, it's the fact that for two days I've been stuck with Enobaria and Brutus who I actually believe may be the most infuriating people to ever populate the world. It's the animalistic groans coming from their bedrooms when they're indulging in whatever kinky debauchery that turns them on, factor in the fact that Brutus is married and then you can see that for the last two days I've been living in a pool of moral turpentine. The weirdest thing is Claude's reaction, the cringing and the looks of absolute shock when he hears Enobaria's moans or Brutus' groans of pleasure; honestly, it is so hypocritical on his behalf. I mean, he got Waldenberg pregnant which means that he's no stranger to sex so that set me off on an eye rolling marathon.

I look over at Claude and even though he seems okay I'm starting to worry about him: He's constantly on edge and looking over his shoulders as if some axe wielding maniac is about to jump out from behind the corner and try to off him. I've been biting my tongue from screaming at him that we're not in the arena yet so he's safe. I do pity him for his circumstances, but it doesn't matter how he ended up here. The thing is that he is here and nobody can do anything about it, so he needs to suck everything up and just stay focused. For this I blame Enobaria and her 'advice': Kill, maim, intimidate, careers. Blah, blah bloody blah; the shit she decides to spout is like a broken record caught on loop. It's playing with Claude's head; it doesn't take a genius to figure out that my district partner isn't some bloodthirsty scoundrel who wants to slaughter children. But he is a person that is eager to please, and for some unfathomable reason he wants to please Enobaria. It pisses me off to no end that he is trying to become some psycho; Enobaria doesn't affect me in the slightest seeing as I don't give a flying monkey about what she thinks seeing as I'm more than likely going to die in the near future. See, so Claude's current identity crisis just adds to what seems to be a seemingly endless list about what makes my life a piece of grade A crap. We're currently in the elevator and then we hear the metallic doors slide open, time for training.

Coming from what people call a 'Career' district I really thought I'd know what to expect regarding training; weapons, targets and sparring with the addition of survival skills of course. Parallel to the training centre at home, but that isn't what I see before me. If I were some crazed killer like Enobaria or Brutus then this would be what heaven looks like, weapons upon weapons of the finest quality inhabit one corner and my fingers begin to tingle with the need to grab hold of a blade and start striking down targets. There are dummies, obstacle courses, climbing equipment and even a swimming pool. I'm pretty much engrossed in everything, I just stand there motionlessly until I feel someone tugging on my sleeve and I turn to see Claude nodding towards the tributes who've gathered around a woman. The only tributes here as of now are us and the pairs from 1,3,4,5, 7 and 11. Eventually everyone else strolls in and we're all here, all 24 tributes of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games: Right now I'm standing in a room with my potential murderer, I'm standing in a room with 23 people who will die so I don't think anybody would blame me for not listening to the spiel from the instructor. Instead I watch my fellow tributes; it's a better use of my time in my opinion seeing as Enobaria and Brutus have been constantly drilling into us the importance of survival skills and how more than half of the tributes die from things such as exposure or dehydration.

The girl from 5 that I know is an actress looks on the brink of tears, she's smart and even if the rest of the careers believe her weakling act I'm going to be keeping an eye on her. Add to the fact that her district partner is standing at her side looking as though he's about to jump in front of a bullet for the pretty red head and she could become a big problem. A normal career would pledge to hunt her down during the bloodbath but I kind of respect how she's dealing with the Hunger Games so rather than hunt her down, I'm going to avoid this girl like the plague. Manipulation is a weapon every bit as dangerous as a sword. The girl from 10 looks like she could flick me and I'd snap in half which is something seeing as I'm pretty muscular and not dainty in the least, it's just that she is a giant and her arms are lined with muscles and her hazel eyes shine with a determination so strong I'm pretty sure she could bring down the whole Capitol single handed if she set her mind to it. Head to head I think I could take her down but I don't want to take the chance, I'm skilled and could take her down from a distance but for all I know she could be some weapon mastermind. The pair from 11, the dark skinned beauty and the pale skinned boy who looked like a cat with his high cheekbones and slanted eyes, they have their heads together and seem to be having a whispered conversation although it seems as though the boy is doing a majority of the talking; they're in an alliance. That is blatantly obvious but I don't see either as a perceivable threat, but they come from the agricultural district so they could know a bit about poisons. Then we have the 12 tributes, they will both die because that is just the way it is and as I look at the little wisp of a girl with her black hair and tiny frame I feel my anger at the Capitol flare: Children killing children isn't exactly humane is it? The boy stands with her but he isn't as imposing as some of the others and he radiates gentility, they're both harmless. Like toddlers confronted with a Rottweiler, helpless. I turn and find the pair from 9, the dark skinned boy is watching the instructor intently as if her words are key to his survival; whereas his partner, the girl with the crippled leg, is glaring at anyone who catches her eye and I know right there and then that even if she is guaranteed death, she sure as hell will be taking someone with her.

Everyone seems so different, all of these different personalities with different future prospects if it weren't for the Capitol and their sick tyranny of the districts. The head trainer, Althea or something like that, shuts up and people start trailing off with looks of confusion and trepidation: These kids have no idea where to start, what to do and I find myself heading over towards the little girl from 8 to help her out when Claude grabs me and starts pulling me towards 3 people who are standing near the weaponry station. They were the mahogany haired harlot called Ruby or some other precious stone like Diamond or something from District 1 who was filing her nails and flicking her hair simultaneously, cue eye roll. Then their was her district partner who was smiling at me and Claude and waving at us as though we've known him for years but rather than being an annoying berk I found his general exuberance endearing and rather refreshing so I flash him a quick smile and raised my hand in greeting, he doesn't seem like a murderer but I'll decide on that later and then finally there is the tanned Adonis from District 4 who stares at us blankly with his muscled arms folded across his chest. He gives me the creeps, simple as that and I'll be keeping him at arms distance and I can promise now that I'll be sleeping with one eye open. Great, we're the careers and only 2 of them are people I anticipate I'll be able to tolerate. We stand in a loose circle near the weapons, staring at one another and the awkward silence just stretches on and on until the 4 boy moves to stand in the middle of the circle.

"Right, I suggest you choose your kills now. But no one touches the girl from my district; she is mine." I feel my mouth fall open, I know that the careers are considered brutal but seeing this twat talk about others imminent deaths so flippantly. So emotionless, it is disturbing and frankly it is rubbing me up in the wrong way. I turn to look for his district partner and see her struggling to get a fire started a look of pure concentration on her face and her dirty blonde scraped into a high ponytail: She's only about 13 and I wonder why he's so determined to kill her? Is it because she outshone him during the parade, and if that is the reason I don't think I'm too comfortable with him leading our alliance. I turn back to gauge everyone else's reactions: Claude's jaw is clenched, Ruby is stroking Kai's arm in her uniquely skanky way which shows that she accepts him as leader and her district partner is just staring at the ground looking forlorn. Oh screw this, I step towards Kai.

"I don't think premeditation is the point of this actually." Then he steps closer to me so that he looms over me threateningly and despite his obvious potential to physically overpower me I stare right back into his dull brown eyes, I know I'm not indestructible but I'm not easily intimidated. I feel Claude step to my flank in a clear indication of support, I always knew I liked him. Ruby is skirting around the edges but I know that if push came to shove she'd support Kai. Great we're not in the arena yet and the alliance is falling apart at the seams. Enobaria will not like this at all. Before anyone can make a move the district 1 boy jumps in-between us, his expression one of frenzied panic.

"Stop it please, we can't afford to be fighting with one another. We don't know exactly what will happen in the arena, so I think we should use this time to establish particular threats and try and identify people's weaknesses... Oh and I'm Nicoli Spinoza by the way, but you can all call me Nikki." I feel like applauding the boy, unlike Kai he doesn't seem like a deranged sociopath and I would feel more comfortable with him leading the alliance. Claude shakes his hand while Kai looks on with an eyebrow raised and Ruby is eyeing Nikki with what I'd describe as surprise. Kai clears his throat and I roll my eyes at his not so subtle attempt to bring attention back to himself.

"Now you know how this works, work with weapons. We need to intimidate the tributes, and remember you need to impress me: None of your positions within this alliance are secure yet. If you get spare time try and pick up some survival skills, not that we will need them once we secure the Cornucopia. Now go and at lunch we'll be discussing our strategy and other things such as whether we'll consider allowing anyone else in the alliance." He turns and leaves which I interpret as a clear sign of dismissal, let's just say my thoughts about the boy included a lot of expletives which would make my mother turn in her grave, or more impossibly make my father look up from his desk at work. I pluck my mother's ring from my pocket and start twiddling it around my finger: I'm doing this because of what she taught me. Do the right thing even if it isn't the easiest option, and with that thought I head towards the knife throwing station while thinking about how on Earth I'm meant to learn to tolerate the likes of Ruby and Kai.

**Carrick McCall, District 10.**

I'm at the knot tying station, and it must be because I'm from 10 that it comes so easy to me. I mean everyone knows that the way to win the Hunger Games is to tie a series of knots and hope that someone falls over one and breaks their neck, I snort to myself which draws me a fearful look from the District 12 girl who isn't getting far with tying any knots seeing as she is staring around at the other tributes as though she could make them disappear with the weight of her stare. I'm still trying to see the funny side of being in the Hunger Games but morbid humour was never my forte, I'm more about the self depreciating humour and it's just not as funny when there is more than a distinct possibility that I could actually be dying in a matter of days. I huff and return to tying a crescent knot, Austin said I should try to use a weapon but I feel a little more comfortable running the length of rope through my fingers. The little girl looks over at what I'm doing and tries to replicate the series of pulling and folding the rope in on itself before trying in vain to try and replicate my movements: I give her a small smile and she leans back, her face is apologetic and she turns away as her skin become tinged with pink from embarrassment at being caught. I chuckle to myself, coming from a family of men I've rarely spent time around girls except for Maeve and she wouldn't be embarrassed. She would tell me to show her and then if she couldn't do it she'd make me do it and give me a glare that said if I didn't she'd beat me up, seeing this little girl being coy is rather surreal so I give her a wink and her eyes widen even further.

"I can show you how to do that if you'd like." Her mouth pops open and her eyes widen even further and it's funny, she looks as if I've offered to cut her throat. She looks from me to the length of rope in her tiny hands and back to me and then the trainer who is staring into the distance; it is truly heartening to know these people are so concerned with equipping us with the skills to survive. The girl just looks down and starts fiddling with the rope again, the ignorance stings a little but hey I suppose it is killing or be killed and it will be a hell of a lot easier to kill someone you don't even know. I sigh and return to my knot, it is rather annoying to know that no one is really talking to no one. What I'd give for the chance to have a proper conversation, I mean Ginna is nice and we exchange pleasantries and all that over dinner but she has made it very clear she doesn't want anything more than that since her only focus is surviving and going home to her family. I'm so consumed with my altogether rather depressing thoughts that I barely notice the slight tap on my shoulder, I turn to find the girl from 12 gnawing on her lip. She opens her mouth and then closes it; I smile at her goldfish expression before she manages to find her voice.

"W-what do y-you want? I-I don't think I know a-anything to help y-you." She looks as if she's confused as to whether or not she is confronting me or apologising to me, and that confusion of hers disarms me completely. I just shake my head, this little girl is 12 years old and doesn't deserve any of this and honestly what kind of world do we live in when people expect something for something. The girl looks at me as I ramble to myself in my head, her apprehension grows as I stare into her eyes. She takes a step backwards and that just does it, I burst out laughing.

"You don't need to do anything, I just saw that you were struggling and thought you might want some help. Do you want any help?" She stares at me as if deciding whether she should trust me but eventually she nods her head, I shuffle around so I'm kneeling behind her and place my own hands above hers before showing her the series of loops and explaining everything as she nods along. Her tiny hands are smooth whereas mine are large and calloused, she just seems so fragile but eventually she can make the crescent knot without my assistance. She turns and gives me a big smile, and I grin back.

"Thank you, my name is Livvya." She holds out her hand and I shake it before smiling back at her, she blushes and looks down and I feel something. Maybe it is a desire to protect this little doll as though she is like a little sister or something. I stand and stretch before offering her my hand again and pulling her up, she brushes down her navy blue harem trousers before looking up at me.

"The name is Carrick, but you can call me Caz, Rick or anything else you'd like to call me. Most of my friends prefer to call me Muppet." She giggles and blushes again and I look out to the training centre. Where to next? I would try swimming but I don't think I could learn in only 3 days, but I do need to learn how to tread water at least. Or maybe learn to swing a sword but I'm trying to avoid making a fool of myself in front of the careers when they congregate at the weapons station like vultures on a carcass. Little Livvya must realise I haven't a clue as to where to go next as I feel her tugging on the sleeve of my sweater, I turn and smile at her.

"Ermmm.. You could come with me to the climbing frames, I could show you how to climb a tree or get from tree to tree or something. If you'd like." She blushes and looks down while kicking at the floor, she looks cute as she slowly begins to resemble a tomato. When she looks up I pretend to be looking torn by raising my eyebrow and curl my upper lip, she looks a bit disappointed and I crack as I start laughing. Her brow creases with confusion.

"Lead the way Liv." She miles up at me again and when I gesture with my hand for her to go she happily skips off towards the synthetic trees and the monkey bars. I just trail after her with a smile on my face, I might be stuck in a shit situation but at least I've been able to make one person smile and the sense of satisfaction makes me smile even more. While I amble around with the goofy smile plastered on my face I almost crash into my little bud when she turns to me. She looks awkward again as she twiddles her thumbs, and I grin as she starts chewing her bottom lip.

"Errrmmm...Rick? I was wondering if you'd like to sit with me and Archie, he's my district partner, at lunch?" I look over to where she gestured at her district partner to see a kid with honey blonde hair lifting weights, looks pretty strong too and muscled to say he's from the poorest district in the whole of Panem. I stroke my chin as I pretend to think about Livvya's proposition, she looks up at me with bated breath as she waits for my answer. I grin down at her and ruffle her wavy black hair and she slaps my hand away but she's giving me her little lopsided grin.

"It would be a pleasure Miss Livvya." She claps her hands together as I give a mock bow and I note the boy from 4 glaring over at us and I admit that he is pretty scary, I don't think he'd have a problem killing us. Actually I don't think he'd break a sweat. I gulp as he continues to stare at us and I can't look away until the girl from 1 dances over to him and trails her fingers delicately along his biceps before turning to look over at me and Livvya with a sickly sweet smile. A smile that promises a whole load of pain, I feel a tug on my arm and I follow Livvya over to the climbing frame congratulating myself on deciding to have lunch with Livvya and this Archie kid. Maybe they'd be interested in an alliance.

**Nicolas Potrola, District 11.**

"So, this is a blackberry and this is nightlock." I hold the two berries out to Clo who gives them a fleeting glance before nodding her head, it sent her chocolate brown hair falling out from her messy bun and I smile at the small smile that makes her caramel coloured eyes light up. I don't know how she does it, I mean we've been here at the edible plants section for a majority of the morning and I can't seem to retain any information. I can barely distinguish what roots are actually edible or whether then have medicinal purposes, we did the test a matter of minutes ago and I'm pretty certain that if we were thrown into the arena right now I'd end up poisoning myself which is something I need to change. Clo had no problem with the test; in fact she knew everything before the trainer opened his mouth. She is just too kind to tell him but she is nodding along as the old man starts rambling on about extracting poisons and water from particular roots, I catch snatches from his lecture and watch as he demonstrates things to Clo that I know I'd never comprehend. It's not that I'm unintelligent per say, I could learn this but in three days it seems impossible: Clo was brought up around plants and learning their uses whereas I was raised around politics and accounts. Clo begins to fiddle with roots and gnaws on her full lips; I find my attention wondering.

I find my eyes drifting towards the Gamemakers who are gathered on an elevated platform wearing pale lavender robes as they chat amicably with one another, gorging themselves on food and drinking copious amounts of wine. One of them is staring down at us with a look of contempt and I almost laugh at the irony of the situation, it should be us who are disgusted with them. I swallow my revulsion as I look at these people whose job it is to make sure that 23 of the children in this room suffer painful deaths for the sole purpose of the Capitol's 'entertainment', and these are the people who control our nation. Do these people even see us as people? Do they know our names, or are we just numbers? I turn away from them before I get too angry; I don't understand where this anger and this bitterness comes from. Before I was reaped, I was placid and just content to go about my life but I suppose that was also before the Capitol snatched me away from my little sister. I mean she has no one there for her now, yes Celeste is staying with the McElroy's but it was always me and her. I need to get back to her, but for that to happen Clo has to die and the thought makes me feel queasy.

To distract myself I decide to watch the other tributes, while Clo is busy learning about plants and their properties I may as well try to learn something about the people we'll face in the arena. If I could find a tiny weakness or something it would be an incredible advantage, the first person I notice is that Autumn girl from district 5 over at the traps and snare station. And to nobody's surprise she has once again succumbed to tears, I do feel bad for her but we're all in the same boat here: It'll do her no good, she just seems weak and I'm sure she'll perish in the bloodbath and however cruel it sounds all I can think is that it will be one less person preventing either me or Clo getting home to District 11. Just then her snare snaps and she just slumps over and covers her face, she looks defeated and pathetic and I swallow my sympathy for the girl. I turn away and see the boy from 8 who I think is called Lyle punching dummies at an incredible speed and I sigh, he seems fast and powerful. I suppose he did volunteer, I'll have to watch him as he may be just as deadly as the careers. I watch as he gestures over to a sparring partner and in three seconds flat he has the man pinned against the floor with his hands wrapped around the mans throat, he just smiles as the man is struggling to breath and I can feel my eyes getting wider and wider. What is this boy, a complete sadistic psychopath? I must still be staring because I feel someone tap my face, I turn to see Clo looking at me her forehead creased with worry.

"Nic, are you okay?" Clo sounds concerned, her musical voice is muted as always and her tears of worry glisten in her eyes. I nod my head towards where the Lyle boy has the other man pinned to the ground, Clo looks over and I hear her intake of breath as she throws her hand over her mouth; her eyes seem to cloud over as she begins to be consumed by memories of her past. Clo has told me very little of her past but I know that she was bullied even if she hasn't told me the reason; the fact that this Lyle's actions are dragging these memories for Clo makes me seethe and I feel like going over there and telling him to stop. Clo just looks at me and then I realise I haven't answered her question so I just nod my head and she sighs in relief before rubbing my back and making me smile, it is a great relief having a friend here in Hell even if the ending will be tragic. But right now, we're just two friends caught up in something beyond our control. Clo climbs gracefully to her feet and I clamber up to follow her.

"So where to now Nic?" Clo is smiling at me and I can't help the answering smile that slides onto my face, any worries I had about Lyle seem to vanish and I throw my arm around Clo's shoulders and she puts her head on my shoulder despite the fact that she seems to have tensed up. I would like to get my hands on a weapon because whereas Clo will be able to feed us and potentially poison others with all her plants, I'll need to learn some skills that would help in direct confrontation with other tributes but that will have to wait; The careers are dominating the weapons station but Chaff and Seeder said they would, it's a tactic to try and intimidate us and in all honesty their little ploy is working.

The female from 2, Sandra, is throwing knives at a target with such accuracy that the bulls eye is no longer distinguishable seeing that so many knives are imbedded into the centre of the target; the most worrying thing is that her hands are blurring with the impossible speed in which she is throwing the knives, it seems as if she isn't even pausing to take aim. I flinch as knife after knife are sent soaring through the air as Sandra just looks on as if she is simply walking through a meadow and providing . Then without pausing she turns toward a human shaped target and sends three knives flying toward it and I actually pull Clo closer to me and step back as I see one knife pierce where the throat would be, another imbedding itself in the chest and the last sinks into the stomach. Despite this girls ordinary appearance with green eyes, a feminine muscular build and sandy blonde hair pulled into a ponytail; she is extraordinarily lethal.

Nicoli Spinoza of District One is smiling as he slices dummy after dummy with a sword, moving swiftly he seems to blur as he strikes again and again. Lightening speed and lethal precision describe his skill, the sword is nothing but an extension of his arm it appears so natural. Despite the smile on his face, the sword appears to glint malevolently and I cannot imagine how easily he could end my life, slicing open my torso in one clean swipe and the thought is sobering. Becoming proficient with some form of weapon has just become my number one priority because how am I meant to run in a race when my legs have been cut from beneath me? Nicoli then heads over towards the rack and replaces the sword before heading over toward the hand-to-hand combat station which was previously occupied by that Lyle boy, a sparring partner head toward the boy but he shakes his head with a polite smile before heading over towards a crash mat. Then he begins to move, although a more acute description would be dancing, he performs a series of split leaps before turning and performing a series of rapid spins while kicking his legs and then performing a hand spring into a back flip and then lands on his hand before performing a walk over, even though the boy has performed a series of manoeuvres which could lead to my fatality he makes them appear graceful or even beautiful.

He then stops and Clo surprises me by clapping and without thinking I join in as do a number of other tributes around the room; Nicoli blushes while his district partner and the petrifying boy from 4 throw him withering glares. The most pleasing sight is the Gamemakers, they cannot conceal their shock at this display of district unity however fleeting it may be. They are aghast and I have to swallow the laughter that is about to burst from my lips, because behind their outrage you can practically smell the fear and it is nice to know that for once the roles have been reversed. Moments later the bell rings signalling the beginning of lunch, pretty convenient if you ask me that we have to go to lunch so soon after that little spectacle, and I make a promise to myself that after lunch I am definitely practicing with at least a knife.

**Guys, here is the first bit of training. I will stretch this out as it is when rivalries and alliances begin to take shape! Let me know your thoughts by reviewing...**

**Thanks,**

**Loves yah... xxx**


	35. Conversation and Confrontation

**Back again, me being all inspired and all that jazz... this is the second part of the first day of training! Haha, I've written ahead of myself but not in the actual order: I've already written the bloodbath and I like it exactly how it is right now so it's staying the way it is unless I have a major epiphany but as it stands I'm killing quite a few tributes rather than 3 or so because lets be realistic now ;)**

**So on with the action...**

**Iian Trescott, District 6.**

Despite my recognition of the Hunger Games importance in regards to politics and oppressing any form of anarchy or rebellion, I can't help but rethink my opinions on the matter. I mean seeing some of these children, like the young girls from 8 or 12, are defenceless and yet we're expected to butcher one another; I blame Dariela for my sudden change of opinions. That girl, so young and innocent and however cliché the sentiment seems: Full of life, yet waiting with her arms open for the cold embrace of death. Something about the sentiment seems wrong and if I were a braver man I would speak out and let my voice be heard but alas here I am, training vigorously with the sole intention of slaughtering the 23 other people here in the lunchroom. Little Dari is talking animatedly about the survival skills she has learnt, still radiating enthusiasm despite the fact that the days are ticking by until she dies and even if I am able to survive the next few weeks what am I meant to do? Be haunted by the faces of the 23 people who died in the arena, forget about Dari and how brave she is to be so young and yet so willing to sacrifice her life just because she isn't willing to compromise her beliefs of pacifism. It astounds me that this has continued for so long, that the Capitol has sanctioned something that tears families apart and on top of that, they actually celebrate this display of violence. And these people are the ones who are deemed to epitomise civility and decorum, a rather strange thought. I just close my eyes, a pointless attempt at trying to clear my mind of these melancholic thoughts.

I have never once declared myself an optimist; I am not fooled by smoke and mirrors that try to make it appear as though everything is so much more 'pleasant' than what it truly is. I see the world in the shades of grey rather than black and white and I've always said that morals can be compromised in an instant, wherever there is good evil always lurks there waiting to exploit innocence. These beliefs of mine have always been the reason why I have been branded a 'loner' back in District 6, why everyone deems me surly and probably the reason for my self inflicted isolation. I can't bear to watch the glimmer of hope vanish from people's eyes, and now I'm being forced into a situation where I will be responsible for making that hope dissipate. How ironic that I always projected the 'lone wolf' image with the sole intention of ensuring that the Capitol has no one they can use against me, well now it seems that I am the tool being used by the Capitol to become responsible for crushing that hope. I close my eyes, what I wouldn't give for silence right now; disappear into my world of solitude. My feet hunger to walk along its familiar pathways through the back streets of District 6, I'm in an unfamiliar place and about to enter an unfamiliar environment and do unfamiliar things and I'm a true realist: I am well aware of the strong likelihood that I'll never be experience familiarity.

I feel bitterness seep through my veins and feel the unfamiliar burn of rage in my chest, my greatest strength as a character is the way I can stand back and view things objectively. Cool, calm and collected but I just cannot apply logic to this situation; I feel a grimace appear on my face as I contemplate what has just happened. The point of the Hunger Games is to create animosity between the Districts of Panem, to ensure they don't unite and lash out at the Capitol: With this manifestation of unity, I am sure that we will all suffer once we step off those podiums. The Capitol won't allow us to get away with something like that, even if it as trivial as applauding one another, we will be made an example of. I rub my eyes and return to stabbing my chicken chasseur with such vigour that it makes my little ally reach over and place a comforting hand on my shoulder; I glance up at Dari and try to force a smile onto my face but it is a lost cause.

"Iian, do not let your anger begin to control you. It would be futile, you need to try and maintain your cool demeanour: Ramona said it was going to be your greatest strength and I will ensure that you utilise that strength. Rage, anger, greed and lust are the Devil's company; I can only advise you to not make their acquaintance. It will cloud your judgement; you've already been forced into a situation that will need you to commit one of the preeminent sins. It says 'Thou shalt not commit murder', but I know that the Lord will forgive you if you are to repent but these feelings. This rage of yours will cloud your judgement and potentially spoil your good heart. Don't let that happen." Despite my earlier failure to smile, I feel a genuine grin spreading on my face as well as a surge of much needed confidence. It astounds me how wise this young girl is, and I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if it turned out that Dari was a 40 year old somehow masquerading as a 13 year old tribute in the 62nd Hunger Games.

And however absurd I find the whole concept of religion I send a thank you to whatever may be out there, thanking whatever it is for giving me such a strong companion: Dari's strength doesn't reside in her ability to lift weight, shoot arrows or camouflage herself. It comes down to her faith, her belief in some higher being enables her to walk with her head held high, not scared for what is to come. However much I would like to inform Dari that if there really was a God, why would he let someone as sweet and loving as Dari end up in something as horrific as the Hunger Games; I just can't muster the strength to tell her that and shatter her beliefs that she appears to cling to like a child with their favourite toy in such a difficult time, even the thought of doing such a thing repulses me somehow.

"Thank Dari, I'll try to remember that but it's hard sometimes when I think about everything I could be leaving behind. There are so many questions I want to answer and I know I'll probably never get the chance and it is a hard pill to swallow. But moving on, what are you focussing on this afternoon? I was thinking of trying to learn something about toxicology, it'll be a good way of killing the others without direct confrontation." Dari winces at the casual way I mention death, how flippantly I can insinuate my intentions to kill and it is then that I see her as the 13 year old she is. She looks down at the table and her gentle brown eyes seem to shine with unshed tears and I feel a pang of guilt for being so tactless. She is running her rosary beads through her hands, a contemplative expression on her face before looking up into my own dark brown eyes.

"Iian, you can't give up hope. If you have a little faith, miracles do happen. You can do this and I know that you will repent, and I know Our Lord will forgive you for any sin you commit because this is not what you truly desire. You're a good man Iian, don't ever give up. I have faith in you, so why not have any faith in yourself? Now, let us not worry about this any longer. We may only have a few days afforded to us, so we may as well try and enjoy every moment until then. Including the great food of course seeing as we only have a few minutes left before its back to training, and in regards to your question I think I'm going to learn to tie a few knots or learn how to camouflage something." The twinkle has returned to her eyes and I can't help but realise that we're like fire and ice, whereas I dwell on everything and tend to see the bad in things; Dari never fails to put a positive, albeit inspired by religion, spin onto any situation and I suppose their is truth in her words. However much I would like to be the master of my own fate, the fact is that my fate is now in the hands of the Gamemakers and whatever happens I need to learn to simply accept it. But what strikes me from Dari's rambling is that if I never find the answer to questions, whether it is something specific like my mother's sudden disappearance off the face of the planet or even something philosophical like the meaning of life, maybe I was never meant to know the answers in the first place.

"Yeah Dari, once again I'm going to ask: how did you get so smart?" Dari's thin lips curl at the edges in a bemused smile at what has become a standing joke between us; before shrugging her shoulders eliciting a rare chuckle from myself. Great that I am finally deciding to try and actually socialise with the threat of death hanging over my head. I blame Dari and her annoying habit of making me talk even when I'd rather be left alone with my sombre thoughts and lick my wounds like a dog in some far away corner.

**Fiona Harkin, District 9.**

The best part of today so far has been the food, everything else has been abysmal although even such a strong word as that doesn't really express how completely diabolical this training fiasco has been. I knew that I should have just stayed in bed but our bitch of an Escort was adamant that I attend; it's just so frustrating because it is all just completely useless. Unless they fix this leg of mine, I am screwed and there is no other way of putting it; I am guaranteed what will most likely be an excruciatingly painful death, where the pain will last hours at the hands of some twisted career so don't mind me if I can't smile and laugh like some of these other tributes. I mean, why on Earth would you applaud a boy who has just demonstrated how he can kill you in about fifty different ways with his bare hands while wearing a smile as wide as the Atlantic Ocean? I swear, I may as well just jump off that plate before the gong rings, at least my death will be instantaneous but I know I'm too much of a coward to take my own life. Lunch is over now and I'm hobbling back into the training centre.

It is all useless, my 'genius' of a Mentor decided to tell me to practice with ranged weapons seeing as I won't have to directly face my opponents. Yes, that would work if I could get my hands on a bloody bow or something like that, but to do that I'd have to run to the Cornucopia to get one and well I don't think my crippled leg would necessarily agree with sprinting. Mentor? What a bloody joke, the old biddy needs replacing if you ask me. She has lost her marbles and even more worryingly, if by some miracle I can make it past the bloodbath she is the one responsible for sending me sponsor gifts. If anyone is willing to sponsor the 'crippled' tribute, I mean why can't I just throw myself a pity party and stay in bed for the next three days rather than constantly embarrass myself?

Everyone else is already back in the training room and I have to suppress the urge to just scowl at everyone, but I don't because I cannot afford to make myself any more of a target. You see with my ever so crappy leg I may as well be wearing a t-shirt that says: 'Hey, look at me I am crippled. I can't run away, I'm as defenceless as a newborn. Kill me; it's not as if I can do anything about it.' I just fold my arms as I imagine what my parents would be saying about this, scolding me for pitying myself but all I can think is that I'm never going to get the chance to see them again, and you know why? Because of my leg, it's always my legs fault no matter what anyone says. It isn't psychological at all, it is entirely physical: It will be the fact I can't run that'll get me killed as soon as that gong rings not my tendency of blaming everything on my disability. And what pisses me off more even if it is incredibly childish, I am never going to get the chance to stick my tongue out at everyone and tell them all 'I TOLD YOU SO!'. Life sucks and then you die, never were truer words spoken because up till now my life has most definitely sucked and in a few days I'll be getting around to the whole dying part.

It's only then I realise that I've been standing there like a total moron for God knows how long, great just another thing to add to the list: My fellow tributes probably now think that I'm mentally retarded as well as physically, just my luck. At a loss at what to do, I decide to act on my batty mentors order and drag myself over to the archery station which is thankfully empty apart from the training assistant man, yay for me I get some time to wallow in self pity in some semblance of privacy. It takes me about 3 minutes to cross the length of the room and I try to avoid catching anybodies eyes, I know what they're all thinking. 'Oh there's the cripple, at least someone else will die before me.' Or 'So I have a 1 in 23 chance of winning' and I sure as hell won't be looking towards that Ruby girl. She may look like some pretty ditz who trails around after that arrogant berk from 4 filing her nails but I am pretty sure she is as every bit as deadly as her sword wielding/ dancing queen district partner, and it does jack all to make me feel better when I keep noticing that she's staring at me like a piece of meat. An easy kill, just my bloody luck; maybe someone she can torture seeing as I won't be running away too fast.

The trainer just rambles on about holding the bow, pulling string and I can't even summon the energy to look attentive; never mind actually listening and for the first time that day something goes my way when he seems to realise he'd have more luck talking to a brick wall and thankfully leaves me alone. For a while I try shooting arrows and I'm nicely surprised when I find I can actually hit the target and it's quite nice to just get caught up in the rhythm of knocking an arrow, pulling back the string and then sending the arrow soaring through the air and sinking into the target. But I am Fiona Harkin and my bad luck returns when I hear someone snorting behind me, thanks big guy in the sky for not letting me forget that I seem to have the worst possible luck on the planet.

"Did you know that your doing it completely wrong? It's laughable actually, how pathetic you are. I can only hope that it's me who gets to kill you; I'll have a lot of fun hearing your cries of pain." I round on whichever jerk it is and I find myself toe to toe with the pretty boy from 8, Lyle something or other. I just narrow my eyes; does he think that bothers me? I know I'm going to die so he needs to engage the very few brain cells he seems to possess and come up with a better set of insults. I mean, what is it with boys being complete jerks? First of all there is Aezir and now this fool and people wonder why some women become lesbians? Take one look at the men around you and you'll find your answer. I just narrow my green eyes, staring into his icy blue irises; they seem cold and I don't doubt that he will try and kill me but I'm sure as hell not letting him know that.

"As you can see I am quite literally shaking in my boots, so you can go choke yourself now. Oh yes, and by the way: All I need to hit with an arrow is your over inflated ego, and well it is so big so no matter how 'wrong' I am doing it. I can't miss." I smirk as I see him recoil as if I've slapped him and I find my palm tingling to bitch slap this boy into next week like I did my jerk of a district partner. His eyes are wide in disbelief and I laugh at his expression, what did he expect? To me to lie down and just die, to live up to the stereotype of the weakling. He curls his lip and then steps so we're literally toe to toe and all I want to do is head butt him but I don't think that's a smart move at all, so I reign in my temper even though I feel my hands curling into fists at my sides.

"Look crippled bitch, watch how you're speaking to me. I don't like attitude from someone as lowly as yourself and the more attitude you give me. The more I will make you scream, you'd do well to remember that." Despite the fact that his menacing whisper sends shivers up my spine and makes my heart beat at a million miles per hour I remain as brazen as ever. Even though this boy is threatening my life, you know what I decide to do? Yawn. I see his jaw clench, yes he might be able to beat me to a pulp physically but when it comes to mind games he's about as pathetically crap as my leg.

"Oh ever so sorry Lionel, it's just that I'm so tired of your deluded ramblings. You actually volunteered for this, because you deluded yourself into thinking you could win. Yeah, you could probably kick my arse from here to kingdom come but if you think that you'll be able to top the careers as easily then it seems your head is as crippled as my leg." I can see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he seems to be biting down, he is shaking with pure rage and he can't do a thing about it. He can't do a thing until we're in the arena and if I'm being honest, I think someone else will kill me and I'm going to make sure I keep pushing his buttons over the next couple of days while I'm still relatively safe.

"You don't know a thing about me, and I seriously advise you to watch your back. I'm not the forgiving kind but let me show you how somebody who isn't a complete invalid shoots an arrow. Imagine the arrow ripping through your flesh; I will make you cry out for help, even though it will never come. Nobody can help you: Not your Mom, Dad, Siblings, Friends. Nobody" Before I can register what he has said he snatches up a bow and arrow and sent an arrow sailing into the target and he hits the bulls eye, but right now I feel as though I'm a bull seeing red. Say what you want about me but leave my family out of it, moaning about them or slagging them off is only something I can do. It doesn't even seem important but I am really at my wits end with this arrogant twat, with these Hunger Games and with the shit hole that is my life in general. Consequences be damned for all I care right about now.

I don't know what possesses me but I snatch an arrow and slash it across his face, I hear his groan of pain and I slash again and again until his handsome face is bathed in crimson; to me it seems as if time is frozen as the sharp point of the arrow slices through his flesh like a hot knife through butter and it is so satisfying. I can feel my face twisting into a cruel leer as we crash to the ground when he throws himself at me, I scream as he overpowers me and wraps his calloused hands around my throat and squeezing. His eyes are alight with a manic desire, he wants me dead and he wants it now but that is too bad because I refuse to die right now: I'm stabbing him with the arrow wherever I can but he doesn't seem to notice as he is too engrossed in trying to choke the life from me. It has been a matter of second since I attacked him but the adrenaline currently coursing through my veins makes sure I note every single moment in vivid clarity.

Suddenly I can hear my heartbeat ringing in my ears and my vision swims, my senses seem to be rapidly deteriorating as my heartbeat begins to slow. I drop the arrow as I hear that sounds as if they're coming from a great distance and rapidly becoming quieter and quieter. Lyle's manic laughter, the gleeful sound seems muffled somehow but it doesn't mask his joy as he slowly squeezes the life from me, the vicious glint in his cold blues seems to shine oh so much brighter as his broad lips and high cheek bones seem to escape my focus; the screams of tributes and the cries of outrage and then I hear the head trainers screams for him to stop and I think I can hear the trainers running towards us; the soft thud of their training shoes against the cold tiled floors but none of that matters. I am staring into the eyes of a cold blooded killer with no idea if I'm even going to survive. The details are seeming to fade as the excruciating pain seems to dissipate as all sense of feeling flees my frail body and I'm left feeling completely numb, I feel as though I am falling asleep on one of the soft beds here in the Capitol; I think I feel the pressure disappears from my chest but I just can't focus on anything. I am floating and all I can see is a blinding white light for one fleeting second before it all fades to black. Silence reigns.

**Yup, a short chapter but I hope you enjoy it! I thought I'd leave you with a cliff hanger and YES the action isn't mind blowing but it does get better/ it was only a few seconds in reality... Let me know your thoughts and REVIEW! Next up is the final chapter for the first day but then the second day will be only 1 chapter or 2 at most! **

**Stars of the next chapter include: Kai, Leo and Sera. With guest star appearances from most of the others of course ;)**

**Thanks,**

**Lawrence...**

**This chapter was originally longer but I thought I'd cut it off there. Next chapter will be longer and have some more drama... Is it just me that thinks it will be interesting when Ruby and Sera come face to face? And is anybody missing out little alliance from District 3?**


	36. A Day Well Spent

**This is the final chapter of the first day of training and I think the first day will be the longest methinks... But I hope you're all enjoying it so far and although I can't promise: I think it will get much better! And extremely more violent... Little warning, as always Seraphine appears with an awful attitude and a potty mouth ;) Cause she really is a Classy Bird!**

**And we're getting some of our bitch Ruby, who'll be doing her rounds...**

**So on with the show...**

**Back again, **

**Seraphine Connolly, District 7.**

Shit me, I thought all this bloody drama would wait until we're trapped in the arena but no: A day in the training centre is turning into a day at the theatre and it is really pissing me off. I swear, we're called tributes not thespians and yeah I fucking hate the Capitol more than anyone but I feel like slapping some sense into everyone. I mean, I'd love to cause a kerfuffle and blatantly piss off every Gamemaker before ripping off President Snow's head and shitting down his neck but I'm not stupid. Yes, I am rash and my attitude stinks at times but I seem to possess something that a lot of the other tributes don't: A shred of self preservation or self control, although I only have that at times. Even I have enough common sense to know that by pissing off the Gamemaker's with all this fighting and clapping business is just going to ensure we have an even more fucking shitty time in the arena; so don't mind me for not whooping for joy. I can kiss my little fantasies of sunbathing by the Cornucopia and somehow obtaining a tan on my startlingly pale porcelain skin goodbye. To say we're all about to have to fight tooth and claw for our lives but some smart asses seem to think that aggravating the people who quite literally hold our lives in their hands, or the control room the specific details right now are completely irrelevant, is a smart move.

I suppose it is to my advantage that a fair few of my opponents are quite obviously brainless morons. Once that fight broke out I wasn't one of those fools running around like headless chickens, honestly you didn't need to be there to see how bad it was, the girl was carried out and if I had to guess I'd say the poor bitch is dead: She was all limp and pale, pretty grim but I suppose I'll be seeing sights which are ten times more fucked up than that so I'd better be getting used to it. Poor bird though, she was only telling that total dickhead about himself: Doing him a favour if you ask me, the arrogant bastard needed a good old dose of reality to bring him back down to the Earth. If I weren't expected to kill the girl pretty soon then I would of tipped my hat to her but either way this shit turns out I'm gonna hit that bloody dick from 8 like a tonne of bricks, but as I've been reminding my doofus district partner: I'm not here to make friends who I'm eventually gonna have to kill in cold blood but I am a little smug about everything that has unfolded because I thought that it would be me if anyone who started any fights, see that's an example of my mythical self control. There are a few berks in this room that I wouldn't mind ploughing like a stream train but I'll fuck them up in the arena when it's actually legal, and I sure as hell won't be just cutting them with an arrow: I'll be kicking them in the ass so hard that my foot will come out their mouths.

You know what I think: If the Capitol seriously want entertainment then they should definitely broadcast these training sessions, it's like I've stepped back in time to one of those ridiculous soap opera things with all the fighting and the tiresome cliché's of the underdogs banding together and all that unity shit. Fucking as pointless as an oven made of chocolate isn't it? There is only one Victor, so we're all in it for ourselves so why add to the drama by being all friendly and that when you'll stab each other in the back at the drop of a hat. Just adds to the drama doesn't it? And the Capitol loves them some drama, so in the end all this deceit and shit just pleases the Capitol and you can kiss my ass if I'm going to get all friendly with some random to please the Capitol. The bastards have practically ruined my life. The funny thing was that I was actually enjoying myself today before the shit hit the fan, I was right that the Hunger Games would be some hardcore physical therapy; I think I've burned a little of my rage. I survey the things that were once humanoid dummies although they now have their innards spilt across the training centre floor along with chunks of their fibreglass casing, this is only a tiny portion of the disaster I will leave in my wake when I roll on into the arena; the only friend I'll need is a faithful axe, I think I'll name her 'Slasher Sue' or some other gory, yet equally stupid, name like 'Cleaver Claire'.

I've always been bloody stumped why District 7 is running so low on the ground in terms of Victors, we're the bloody home of lumberjacks for Christ's sake; even though I'm a 'dainty little doll', everyone else's words not mine, I've been swinging an axe for as long as I can remember: I could chop down a 6' bloke without misplacing one of my wild ginger curls on my pretty little head. I turn back to another dummy and pluck up the axe I've been wielding all day, aptly name 'Timmy the Training Terror'; he's a good one. Being lightweight allows me to swing quickly, but dual wield if necessary and then he is as sharp as anything: Dainty but deadly, the same could be said about me. I swing Timmy over my head and the steel edge slices through the neck, I pull it out and I'm a bit disappointed it didn't take the head clear off. That's gone and pissed me off so I swing my foot round and knocking the head clean off so it goes rolling along the floor; Score, seems I'm pretty strong for someone who is practically a midget. Always knew that beating the shit out of trees would benefit me somehow apart from cutting my knuckles into ribbons, but as soon as my quasi good mood appeared it packed up its bags and fucked right off. I've got bloody company.

"That was rather impressive for someone who is untrained. You have great potential and I may have a proposition that is mutually beneficial for the both of us. Oh and the name is Ruby Ashford if you didn't already know." I didn't know her name, I've been referring to her as the Bimbo Diamond and I couldn't care less if she's called because Ruby or bloody Ursula but I keep my mouth shut. Because although I suspect she is an uber sneaky bitch and grade A ho on show, she's attempting to be diplomatic with a snarky smile on her full, red lips and her sparkling emerald eyes wide so I may as well return the favour. I nod my head in acknowledgement but don't say anything because I'd probably just tell her to do one but she takes the gesture as a sign to keep talking and I genuinely feel like stamping on my own foot. She shakes her long mahogany hair from in her face and just proves she is nout all but the brainless twat I thought she was.

"Well as you may know, the tributes of the most illustrious districts of Panem; namely those of 1, 2 and 4 band together in an alliance but this year we've decided we may actually extend an invite to tributes from other, outlying districts to join us. It is a great opportunity and I definitely think you should accept this offer, I mean it truly is a once in a life time kind of deal." She gives a breathy laugh at her shit joke about how we're all going to die, and a smirk finds its way onto her stupidly beautiful face. I swear to whatever dude with a beard is hiding up in the sky that I'll wipe that smug smirk right off her face, what an obnoxious bitch. Have I got a red neon sign hanging over my head that flashes 'Hey I'm A Psychotic Killer, Recruit Me Into Your Motley Crew Of Future Mass Murderers', I believe the word for her behaviour is presumptuous, I'm fucking insulted by her offer and all I want to do is tell her to shove it right up her pert ass. But this bitch is still masquerading as some sort of diplomat so I'd better try it to, I gnaw on my lip as I consider my words and she nods encouragingly.

"Yeah, about that little offer; I think I'm going to have to decline but thanks for asking. But can I ask what possessed you to think I'd want to join?" Okay, that was diplomatic for me even though I couldn't stop the snarky remark but some things never change. I think it's kind of funny how quickly her demeanour switches, from the smiley bint trying to make me skip off into the sunset with the careers to some kind of medusa who is trying to intimidate me. Let me just say that if looks could kill I'd be six feet under seeing as she is glaring at me through her narrowed eyes. But really, does she expect me to cower in fear by cocking her leg and putting her hand on her hip; this is the Hunger Games not a bloody models runway. If she wanted to intimidate me she should have stuck her dukes up.

"I seriously urge you to consider, you volunteered for this after all and you will survive longer if you have allies." Her voice is what I suppose would be a menacing hiss but I find it about as scary as a tap dancing pig, but I fold my arms across my chest and glare right back at her even though she dwarfs me with those long legs. Screw being short, she'll be shorter than me when I chop her legs from her in a minute if she does not back off and scuttle back off to her fucking 'allies' who she'll be trying to kill in a matter of days. Allies my ass, I pull myself to my full height to let her know that I don't give a flying fuck about her barely concealed threats.

"Right, I've tried being patient with your skinny ass but you are grating on my last nerve. Yes, I volunteered to be here but not for the fame, the glory or some twisted need to mutilate children. I did it so a little girl wouldn't be stuck here with sadistic bastards like yourself who gain some hedonistic pleasure from slaughtering 12 year olds, so I seriously urge you to fuck right off before I show you a proper smack down. I'm gonna stick this out alone, so take your little offer and ram it where the sun don't fucking shine." I stop to take some deep breaths, shit me this bitch is dancing along a fine line because I want nothing more than to just pummel her in her pretty face and mash up that perfectly straight nose of hers. I start counting to ten as Ruby bristles like a cat, seems the feeling is mutual and she wants to tear me a new asshole. Whereas she was all about trying to administer subtle threats to coerce me into doing what she wants, I'm all about putting it all up front.

"Okay then 7, it seems you have made up your mind and even though you've made the wrong decision. I should respect that, but let me tell you now dearest: Today you've made an enemy, and I am not the girl to be trifled with because it never ends too for people who cross me." Bitch. See's that the threats are no longer veiled, but I prefer it that way: Mind games and things with double meanings really piss me off; I'd like to see her try and 'end' me because I would fuck her up. She turns and struts back over to that twat from 4, Kai. I just giggle to myself, I actually tried to avoid drama but it comes to find me any way. Oh well fuck it, and Ruby 'tit face' Ashford can bring it on because I am ready and rearing to go. I'll see that bitch in the arena, and we'll see if she's such a complete ho when I knock her clean out. I turn back to the dummies and pick up good ole Timmy and begin to hack away, I swear that this is the best ever way to vent my frustration.

I glance around the room, everyone is doing their own little thing but one person is trying to catch my eye: Asher, the bloody smiling oaf who still seems to be radiating that aura of bloody optimism even though he is stuck in a room with currently 20 people who are more than likely gagging to kill him. Bloody fool though he is I can guarantee it won't be me to top the suck up however annoying I can find him at times, for the past three days that goofy has been like a bloody tumour: I don't want him but he continues to grow on me. He is smiling and mouths the words 'You okay?', so he did notice my tiny run in with Queen Bitch I just shrug my shoulders before throwing my axe and watching as it sinks into the target with an immensely satisfying clunk. I turn back to Asher and he flashes me a smirk and gives me the thumbs up, I just roll my eyes and flash him the V's.

**Kai Thallasa, District 4.**

"...how could she refuse? Maybe I should have gone to talk to her myself, since I'm not as incompetent as you am I? Fucking hell, five of us are not a career alliance. We need to find another candidate but she is pretty skilled, not trained but even I admire her tenacity. She could be a perceivable threat and we need to make sure she is eliminated as soon as that gong rings. Do you understand me Ruby?" My voice is but a whisper, cold and emotionless but it has the desired effect: Ruby is eyeing me and although it isn't with fear as I would've preferred but her sole focus was on me and for now that will do. Her eyes are narrowed in a way I understand, a quietly seething rage is boiling beneath the surface; she is eager for this to begin and it is a shame that she'll have to die. We're kindred spirits in a sense, ruthless and eager to annihilate any competition that stands in our way; but there is only one Victor and that title is mine and can only be mine alone.

She's rather attractive too, and I'm rather sure we could elevate one another into realms of pleasure we've never experienced. I may not associate with my emotions but I am still a man and I can appreciate the female form and I intend to do a lot more than appreciate Ruby's form. My shrewd gaze travels the length of her body zoning in on every delectable curve; soon enough I'll be making her scream my name, that simple thought brings a sly smirk onto my handsome face. Ruby eyes flicker with recognition, she knows that I was 'checking her out' and a seductive groan escapes her lips as she catches her plump lower lip between her pearly white teeth. She's a smart girl because she knows she cannot compete with my physical brawn so she is employing her sensuality to do the job. She raises her eyebrow before leaning towards me, dragging her nails down my forearm.

"Put your eyes back in Kai, you can do whatever we like once we're finished here. She refused because she has what people call a 'moral compass' which you and I both know makes her weak and will be what gets her killed. Even if she is a perceivable threat in your eyes. If you want to be the one to take down that brat from your district that is fine with me but that bitch from 7 is my kill, no questions asked. I will make her regret the day she made Ruby Ashford her enemy. As for the alliance, I don't trust one of them apart from Nicoli who is too simple to understand the concept of betrayal but that pair from 2 will stick together. We need to eliminate them as quickly as possible, so as for whomever we're going to bring into the alliance it needs to be someone easily controlled. Brawn but no brains, that's why I objected to you wanting to draft in that girl: She may be as dumb but it'd be easier to maintain control over a raging bull. Kai, we're the puppeteers not the puppets." I am lost for words, entranced by whatever it is that this girl seems to be projecting. As well as being beautiful she has a particular way with words and a mind as sharp as a spear head which is why I consented to listen to her seemingly endless monologue; I couldn't have chosen a better lieutenant, she spins the political web while I am the spider who'll feed on the unsuspecting prey. A bloodthirsty smile curls the corners of her lips, I may actually respect this vicious harpy but I will not be underestimating her however much she files her nails and bats her eyelids. She is already marked as my greatest opponent, a definite threat.

"You're right Ruby, we don't need someone who would question my authority; and yes it would ideal to get a mindless brute but be realistic. How will we control whoever it is? And who do you think we should recruit?" She takes a moment to think about what I've said, a contemplative expression resting upon her striking features before a sultry grin and steps closer to me so that her body presses against mine before leaning up to whisper in my ear; her voice husky and breathy.

"Kai, you are extremely self-disciplined despite your thirst for blood; but even someone like you who is as cold as an iceberg is effected by me, teenage hormones are a weapon to be used against people. Whoever it is will be eating out of my hand, believing every whispered lie and raised as a lamb to slaughter; on your orders of course. The boy from 8, his little spectacle earlier shows his strong but he is rash and doesn't think things through seeing as he and the 9 cripple will be facing severe repercussions for going against the Capitol's orders. Plus he is vain, trust me it will work." Ruby should be a politician, every manoeuvre is well thought out and I nod along with her; I respect someone who can exploit a situation but I don't like the idea of the 8 boy touching Ruby. I don't even like the girl, but she is my territory until I decide otherwise, I just nod my head and gesture for Ruby to leave. She leans up and kisses me on the cheek before strutting away, but as I watch her go I realise that whereas I am not afraid of the Hunger Games; I will bask in the glory when I emerge Victor but factoring in this game I'm playing with Ruby and my confidence seems to wane slightly. If at any moment I show a shred of weakness, she will pounce of it like a panther and exploit it. She will exploit me, and I acknowledge that there is a slight chance that the girl will be my undoing.

I turn back towards the targets, each one skewered as I will skewer anyone unlucky enough to cross my path once we step from that podium and the bloodbath begins. Each target is representative of each life I will end, each light of life I will extinguish. There weakness is my strength, I will eradicate Panem of these pathetic beings who think they can compare to the likes of me and I will be honoured for it. Kai Thallasa will be honoured for quenching the thirst to indulge in his most brutal fantasies, to physically take another's life. To be God, and there is no greater feeling than this to know that in a matter of days all of my wildest dreams will be coming true. I snatch a spear from the rack where they're held before weighing it in my hands: It's heavy and will require a lot of force to fly over long distance and the wider shaft will make it more difficult to be precise in terms of aims. It is a tool of mutilation, not the bearer of a quick death and that brings a savage grin to my face; not many could use this weapon, it requires strength as well as skill to hit a target but I am not one of many. I am Kai and I have plenty of both, I grasp it in my hand before bringing it back and throwing it towards the target with as much force as I can muster. The spear rips through the air, the whistle like music to my ears as in a matter of days it will be the signal of death. When the spear hits the target it doesn't stop, it tears right through and crashes into the wall with a thud that reverberates throughout the room.

All sound, all motion. Everything freezes as if time itself has stopped; I turn to survey the room. Most are frozen in unadulterated fear, eyes wide and their mouths hanging agape. Others are staring at me with what can only be called awe; I am gripped in the talons of euphoria as I breathe in the heady scent of their fear and their jealousy. I am the cause of it, and I know then that I am a God amongst mortals; I see it in their eyes that they know I am the Victor, the looks of defeat are like a lovers caress to my ego. With all eyes on me, I rip my shirt off and raise both arms above my head in the traditional stance showing victory. Fear, admiration and lust are drugs to me and standing here in the wake of my own power, my own superior skill is providing me with the fix I hadn't realised that I needed. I am returned to my senses as I hear the bell ring to signify the end of our first day of training and I couldn't be more gleeful that the last thing to stick in their pathetic minds was my obvious superiority in every aspect; they may have seen Nicoli dancing around like a fool and his elaborate swordplay; they may have seen the two tributes fighting like pack animals but I know for a fact that the thing that will haunt their nightmares tonight will be the flight of that spear. Their imaginations will run wild as they see it crash through their ribcage, spilling their guts against the arena floor and splashing their blood against the arena walls. Nothing pleases me more.

I head towards the elevator while everyone else still stands there, immersed in their shock and afraid to move. The way it should be, as I enter the elevator I hear everyone who remained in the training centre scramble from their stations and scuttle towards the elevator but eventually it quietens down when I realise that nobody wants to share an elevator with me. Rather than feeling hurt from the isolation I rejoice in the fact that they are too petrified to be alone in an enclosed space, terrified of what I could do to them and it's true: I could dispose of any one of them without breaking a single bead of sweat. I press the button for floor 4 and as the doors close I just lean back against the wall thinking about today truly was a day well spent: Securing the leadership of the Career alliance, plotting with Ruby and striking an icy blade of terror into the heart of every tribute who was there today in order to witness my prestigious display of athleticism and lethality.

**Yes, I know you hate me for ending it here without the District 3 tributes but they're up next as well as a meeting with Seneca Crane and our beloved President and Rosalinde goes on a little mission (cure Mission Impossible music!)... It isn't a training chapter per say but I wouldn't say it is necessarily a filler, it starts in regards **

**Oh and as for the bloodbath...I'm killing 8 or 9, I edited my draft so that I can decide at a later date; **

**REVIEW and let me know your thoughts, expect an update again pretty soon! **


	37. Making Panem A Chess Board

_**Back again! Ha ha, I'm surprised how I'm miraculously managing to have a social life and churn out these chapters like some weird robot; you know what, I blame (or maybe thank, undecided on that front) insomnia. But enough about me and my atypically boring life. **_

_**Oh I've taken some liberties with Seneca Crane, we've seen him in the film but his appearance was never really specified in the books so I just made it up a little bit ;) Oh and as for the science bits, despite getting an A* at GCSE I am genuinely 'scientifically challenged' but I've tried and since I was writing this on a train without Wi-Fi the internet wasn't available for research purposes and I couldn't be bothered to use my phone... :S**_

_**On with the drama...**_

**Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker.**

I look around the sterile control room, the blindingly white walls and the holographic representation of this year's arena. I run my hand through my midnight blue hair, damn me for my raging ambition and outright stupidity. Why? A monosyllabic word which in the Capitol has no real relevance, why do we need a reason to do anything? But that simple word has been plaguing my every waking thought: Why did I accept the role of Head Gamemaker? Anyone with a shred of intelligence knows that a grim fate awaits anyone in that position who does not live up to President Snow's stupendously high expectations, and with this as my first year I know I need to make an impression, I need to be responsible for the greatest ever games. But how on Earth can I do that? The Capitol expects a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence whereas the President wants the tributes to undergo a mental deterioration. What can I do? If I don't do as the President wishes I will not live to see the 63rd Hunger Games but the same still stands if I don't impress the Capitol; it would be so much simpler if I were to die now, it would rid me of the anxious knot that has taken residence in my stomach since my 'little chat' with Snow. I scoff, how much easier it would be if it was just a little chat. I think it is strangely humorous that the districts seem to think that we Capitolites live in a bubble of safety, if only that were the case I would sleep soundly at night, because if these games don't live up to the mark then I am as surely dead as 23 of the tributes who will enter the arena in 3 days time.

I slope over to the main system and enter the security code, a map of the arena appears on the screen as do an inventory of the mutts we currently have in development; I foresee another sleepless night so I may as well spend all of my energy in trying to create the perfection that everyone seems to be expecting in regards to the arena. The landscape though picturesque is the classic 'Black Widow', exotic and beautiful but laced in a multitude of deadly traps; the second level appears: Sterile and barren, an open arena that appears more dangerous and will allow for the violent show the viewers so desperately crave but the catch is that a lot of 'rewards' are to be found if the tributes are willing to take the risk. My hand flies across the keyboard as I make small amendments, adjust camera angles. The one salvation of my role is that I am the one to create the playground where all the tributes are to play, to develop new ideas and work along the greatest scientific minds that Panem has to offer. As I'm studying a promising design of a plant that, in theory of course, secretes a pollen that is meant to interfere with the neuron pathways which should consequently cause an over activity in the region of the brain that focuses on emotions: Namely fear, whilst also acting as a hallucinogenic. I transfer the file to Crimson Hardwick, the Head of Development, with a quick note to tell her to prioritise this project. I move onto the next catalogued mutt before I am rudely interrupted by a brisk knock at the door, my focus shatters as every muscle tenses and I explode.

"I have explicitly ordered that I am to not be disturbed. Are you seriously so mentally incompetent that you cannot comprehend a simple request?" I exhale loudly, I regret the outburst and I know that a lot of the staff I'm working alongside me probably resent me for my new snappish attitude in the workplace but if they knew what position I was in then they would most definitely be pitying me. Not gossiping about me while they lurk in corners thinking I cannot hear their scornful remarks. Well I genuinely apologise for me being more concerned that I live to see the next New Year than pleasing my work colleagues by smiling foolishly; I lean back in my chair and rub my temples to try and delay the onset of a migraine, now is not the time to relax. Now is not the time to be wasting time with headaches, it is the time to work. I click on the next potential project when I hear someone clear their throat. I simply cannot comprehend as to why people cannot understand and execute simple instructions, my staff are to be considered as the intellectual elite that the Capitol has to offer; You'd be surprised how obtuse some people can be, I am seriously considering purchasing a 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

"I must admit that you are the first person to ever question my mental competence, but Mr Crane: The reason I'm here is not to gather your thoughts on my intelligence but to see how you're doing in response to our little discussion." Dread. Fear. That is a voice that anyone who inhabits Panem knows, a voice that stabs the icy cold knife of terror into everybody's chest. President Coriolanus Snow, my outburst could seriously cost me my life but then I can breathe again; The President may be a vindictive snake but he isn't rash and he would never sabotage the Hunger Games by murdering the Head Gamemaker so near to when that gong rings. So I get to live another day at least, but as I turn in my chair and my eyes meet his I know that I am the prey while he is the snake with his venomous fangs bared and poised to strike. I open my mouth, apologies ready to spill from my lips and ready to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness but before I can even open my mouth Snow raises his hand. A clear request for silence and seeing the malicious glint in his cold grey eyes I know it is not in my best interest to question his authority.

"I did not come here to hear you grovelling, I came here to talk and you are here to listen. I am not one to beat around the bush; I just want to let you know that so far I am pleased with your progress although I think you will have to make everything even better if you are to truly make these games truly spectacular. You were chosen above all other candidates for this position Seneca, and I will be extremely disappointed if you do not live up to my expectations and I must stress that I am not fond of being disappointed. In fact it makes me rather angry. So I suggest you turn to the likes of Hardwick and Heavansbee to help you, I wouldn't want you drowning in work after all." I nod along with what he is saying although it is almost impossible to keep the look of disbelief off of my face; he doesn't like to 'beat around the bush'? If he was all about being upfront then he would've just outright threatened me, instead he's implied it in such a way that I will spend the remainder of the night pondering his words. All the more time to work on the arena, I wait with bated breath as he turns to walk away and as he nears the door I can't stifle the sigh of relief that escapes me. I lean back in my chair, sagging in relief until the muted menace of his voice echoes throughout the room.

"Oh and Crane, I am most intrigued to see as how you will deal with the situations that arose in training today. You know how delicate the whole infrastructure of Panem is at the moment; although I think it wise to allow people to know of mounting tensions between 8 and 9. Creating animosity between the districts would be beneficial seeing as the tributes are all about district unity from what I know. But those two tributes must be punished for the debacle they have caused, they are well aware of what the Capitol expects of its tributes and by not meeting these expectations they are making a mockery of their Capitol: And that cannot be accepted." I'd ensured that every Gamemaker present kept their mouths firmly shut to make sure no one heard about what happened at the Training Centre, but alas nothing slips past our omniscient President, the snake in the grass that knows everything about everything and everyone. Once again I find myself on edge, anticipating that by the end of this whole ordeal I will probably be admitted to an asylum but as of right now I am of sound mind. I know that Snow was giving me very clear instructions although he was only here fleetingly: Punish the boy from 8 and girl from 9, and start a rumour about the conflict while keeping hush about the round of applause that the Spinoza boy received and then to collaborate with Hardwick and Heavansbee to create the ultimate arena of mental torment. To me that seems like an exceptionally long list, and not for the first time as of late it seems that once again Seneca Crane is in for another long night. I decide to begin with my contribution to the Capitol's rumour mill. I find the number, which I had conveniently stuffed in the back of my calling log, before hitting the dial button.

"Seneca, to what do I owe the pleasure?" I bite my tongue when I hear the trademark sarcasm, and with her nasally voice I have the sudden urge to smack my head against my desk repeatedly. Oh Hortensia, ever the charmer but also the biggest gossip to ever grace the streets of Panem. Even though most of what she says is utter nonsense, everyone believes her elaborate lies and without her there is no doubt that the rumour mill would vanish from the face of the Earth. Deep breaths, it always helps to be calm when dealing with my estranged, and soon to be ex, wife. Especially when I need a favour seeing as she is the most infuriating woman to ever breathe and I have no doubts that she would rather bathe in acid than do anything to help me. Unless it is about one of her favourite things: Style, Wealth or Gossip, that feed her insatiable appetite as an attention whore.

"Sia, when I have some rather fascinating news for you..."

**Leonardo Wence, District 3.**

As a citizen of District 3 I am seen as possessing above average intelligence, and it is true to a certain degree. I may not be a genius but I can still recognise the significance of the Hunger Games; when people are reaped they instantly assume their death and in a vast majority of the cases this is fact. But I don't think anyone realises when the games transform from a nightmare into actual reality, a reality when every tick of the clock could be counting down until your heart stops beating and you die. A reality in which your inner flame is slowly starved of oxygen until it ceases to exist. So far the Hunger Games have been but a far off dream, a manifestation of my denial that I have been placed in a situation where I will be slaughtered like a farm animal, with the hectic schedule in terms of the train rides and then the 'make over' process with waxing in places I'd never imagined being waxed. It was all so surreal, like an out of body experience and I think I was unable to process anything and then with the glitz and glamour of the Chariot Rides: I just couldn't imagine being placed into an arena where I am to fight for my life when I'm waving at the people who are cheering for my immediate demise.

But now I have been brought back to Earth, and now I am but an ember; burning but paling in comparison to the others. I will be nothing but a candle in the wind. Never will the fire within me reach its full potential and engulf the world in its burning passion or comforting warmth. I will never be the supernova that burns the brightest; I will be just another Hunger Games statistic. A flame that disappears, totally forgotten by everyone. Although I've lived my life living up to everyone's expectations as the respectful young man who is content to fade into the background while nursing my curious obsession, I've always wanted to be something else. Something more than what people expect of me but that opportunity is slipping through my fingers, and that thought burns through my every vein. It was training that changed it all; when I saw what some of the others could do it made my affinity for fire seem like nothing more than a parlour trick; and even amongst those that were not trained killers like the careers they were physically imposing. I am the 'Sewer Rat' of district 3 with my scrawny frame and shaggy brown hair, most of the other male tributes and a fair share of the girls could overpower me rather easily.

It is times like this that I condemn my stupidly high levels of logic, I may have a vivid imagination but my understanding of basic scientific principles prevents me from escaping into a wonderland where I could go to sleep and wake up back home where the Hunger Games are nothing but are just a grim memory of the past. Both the concept of time travel and the laws of physics prevent this happening in a solely scientific element, but then the political climate of Panem must be taken into consideration. Frankly why would the Capitol ever abolish the Hunger Games? Their tool which enables them to both oppress and control the districts, they are the chains that bind us. If I were in their position I wouldn't even consider the idea of ridding Panem of the Hunger Games. So since I can't escape in some elaborate fantasy, I do the next best thing and throw myself onto the luxurious silk sheets and wait for sleep to take me and to escape into my dreams where I revisit the burning building. My greatest achievement to date, the most concentrated fix for my morbid addiction and most possibly the greatest achievement I will ever obtain.

I've scrunched my eyes shut as I struggle to clear my mind, but any chance of relaxation disappears when I hear a brisk knock of my door. Although I'd love to tell whoever it is out there to just go away and give me some semblance of peace but my manners are far too ingrained for me to blatantly ignore whoever it is but I don't have much of a choice in the matter as the door creaks open. Greer slides into the room with a small smile on her lips, her strawberry blonde hair pinned back and her pale green almond eyes wide with worry; I grin back at her and she takes it as an invitation to waltz over and sit on the end of my bed. I sit up and shuffle down the bed so we're sitting next to one another, she nudges me and I shake my head before giving her our 'customary' hug of greeting; she leans on my shoulder and I rub her back before she pushes back to hold me at arms length. Her pale green eyes burn into my own muddy brown eyes and I look down as I realise the 'look'. The look that says 'Yes, I am analyzing you so don't try and hide a thing', I sigh and look up to see Greer's worry has multiplied tenfold.

"Leo, where were you at dinner? You've been hiding in your room since we got back from training, has anything happened? Have I done something?" The first thought I register is complete and utter shock, maybe a little exasperation. Despite Greer's impeccable intelligence in regards to anything scholarly, she can be incredibly dim especially in social situations although it is a rather endearing quality in a friend; I just shake my head when I see Greer's eyes widen imploringly. Another tick of hers is an incessant need to know everything, what causes something to happen: I think it is her inner scientist.

"I'm completely fine, nothing has happened and of course you haven't done anything. You are the only person that makes being here tolerable, however mundane it sounds I really wasn't hungry." Only part of it was a lie, Greer is the only redeeming factor in what has become my poor excuse for a life since being reaped. Both of us ready to set the world alight, but I should have known that she is almost as apt at reading people as she is when tinkering with things or reading a book. Her eyes narrow, an accusation burning brightly and a small sigh escapes my lips. Damn her for being a human lie detector, as efficient as the technology she tinkers with back home in District 3. A few moments pass, being the respectful man I am I recognise she is allowing me to tell the truth but Greer is my friend; I don't have to hide behind the facade I've carefully constructed over years.

"Leo, I think you forget that I may know about your 'double life' but nobody else is clued in. And you Leo are anything but careless, the reason I know that something is wrong is because to everybody else you are the meek yet unquestionably respectful. Social etiquette dictates you should have been at dinner, it was what is expected and even if you weren't hungry I assumed you would have been there in order to keep up appearances. If it is a private matter than you don't need to tell me but please remember that all friendships are based on trust, admittedly we aren't in the best situation for forming friendships but you are my friend Leo and I want to help you if I can." Greer is rubbing my arm and however simple the gesture is I find myself smiling at her attempt to comfort me, pushing the sleeve back to show the silvery scars that are testament to my fascination of playing with fire; she knows as much about me as anyone even though I've known her for days but I know that we are truly friends. My exasperation has returned though at how easily Greer broke me down and managed to analyse the situation in a way which is both scientific in approach, inspecting every component before drawing a conclusion, but also with an undertone of compassion that shows me that she truly cares.

"It's just that we're about to go into the Hunger Games Greer. In a matter of days we could both be dead, and what have we ever achieved? No matter how much we plan, how much we do we cannot win. This isn't an experiment G, there is no method and outcome. The Hunger Games is not a science, against a career what are we meant to do Greer?" My shoulders slump forward in defeat, every little thought that has been buzzing around my head like an annoying bug that has been splattered on my windscreen of life. Saying it aloud has brought every ounce of frustration bubbling to the surface, made me look into a metaphorical mirror and see my powerless reflection; I look back at Greer to see her eyes soft and her mouth turned down at the corners.

"I know Leo, life isn't a scientific experiment however much easier that would be than facing reality but you need to look at this situation from a stance that is logical and objective; we both have a 1 in 24 chance of survival and if we survive the initial bloodbath our chances will continue to rise as each tribute falls. Yes we may not be trained in combat, but both of our minds if applied correctly are as dangerous as a sword. Unlike everyone else, we know the games have already begun; we are studying our environment. Yes, there are extraneous variables that will come into effect but if we study enough we should be able to alter any plans made in order to suit the situation." Greer's outlook is comforting, everything she has said is fact but this isn't going to be as straightforward; I'd love to believe this, to know that we have a plan that could save our lives. I try and smile but I just can't, it seems futile. Yes District 3 has a few Victors but if you divide the number of Victors by 62 you will find that the number is stupidly low, especially when compared with other districts.

"Your plan sounds ideologically sound, but that is it. Can it work in practice? How are we meant to defeat the likes of that boy from 4, did you see him throw that spear? What have we learnt that will be helpful? Because so far all that I've learnt is how to set a few basic snares and how to camouflage myself as a tree." I know I sound like a petulant child but I have to face the possibility that my fire will be extinguished in a matter of days and not being able to do anything makes me feel like a child. Greer doesn't look sad as I had expected; instead she looks thoughtful as if deliberating how she should phrase something.

"Leo, as you know 'Brains beat Brawn' is my greatest philosophy and never under estimate knowledge as a weapon. You see it as only setting traps but part of science is developing something or altering its original purpose, for example: Yes, you have learnt to set a snare but have you considered incorporating other elements to create an original yet lethal compound. Using a conductive material for the snare will allow for it to become an electronically charged, or even incorporate your beloved fire to make what may appear as a simple snare into a fatal contraption. Plus, the point of training is not only to gain a new set of skills; it is also parallel to the observation phase of an experiment: Seeing how the components, although in this case the components are actually us tributes, react around one another and their individual qualities and how they can be neutralised similarly to acids and alkaline substances. Using Kai for example, when throwing he favours his left legs for weight baring; damage, however small inflicted to this limb would have detrimental effects upon his throw." I am shocked, seeing as Greer seems to pursue perfection in every way shape or form she seems to be able to look beyond the realms of normality in a way that is both realistic and resourceful. Looking at it like that makes me feel more prepared than before and I feel my inner flame flicker as confidence burns through my body. Greer raises her eyebrow and winks, as always she is able to soothe my nerves and make that inner fire flare to life. I smile back and she seems to smile in what I think is relief and I think I understand why in her unique way: Our alliance is like an isotope, these chemical bonds can only ever be as strong as the weakest element. For this alliance to be the raging inferno I know it could be, a formidable flame: We both need to be as strong and committed as one another.

"Well I can see that I've done as much as I can in order to ease your nervous state. I hope that you are feeling better in time for training tomorrow; I have made contact with another tribute who may be interested in an alliance so we'll need to talk about that a bit later. But before I go, I think I may have something you could do tomorrow which would not only be incredibly informative but give you a fix in regards to your unhealthy obsession." A cheeky grin makes its way onto her face and I admit it I'm intrigued; I am from District 3 after all and once my curiosity is peaked I need to know. She grins and makes her way from the room, but before she exits she turns to the desk and straightens a number of papers and ensures all writing utensils are positioned to the left of the notepad making me roll my eyes; still obsessing over perfection. As the door closes her melodic voice drifts into the room, adding fuel to the fire.

"Tomorrow Leo, you get to play with explosives..."

**Rosalinde Snow, Capitol Citizen.**

Ever since the clandestine meeting I have been walking on cloud nine, my mood so bright that I have been able to tolerate the snake's presence without wanting to scream in frustration and rip my hair from my head. This perfumed thorn is coming to bloom, rebellion truly is like a flower it needs to be nurtured and pruned; and as of late I have been able to ingrain a strong set of roots. No longer are my musings of rebellion a distant daydream, forever banished into the realm of fruitlessness. No, the wheels of change are slowly beginning to turn and despite my father's best intentions he himself is allowing this rose to grow and soon he will be trapped between the thorns.

The display of unity between the districts tells me that the time is now; no longer will the districts of Panem stand divided beneath the oppressive dictatorship of the Capitol and its bastard President; when they rise up as one the tyranny of Coriolanus Snow will burn until its ashes blow through the streets of Panem. A united land, a land that lives without the atrocity that is the Hunger Games. No longer do I stand alone, allies are behind me; The Victors, adored by both the districts and the Capitol; Gamemakers; Advisors to my father but there are two more allies I need at my side before the fire can be lit. This is very fire that will burn Panem as we know it to the ground. Allow the phoenix of a new day and a brighter future to rise from the ashes. These much coveted allies are District 13 and their elusive President Alma Coin who I will be meeting to after the completion of this year's Hunger Games, to renegotiate the long standing treaty between the District who specialises in nuclear weaponry and my father. But once again Daddy thinks too much of me, by sending me to District 13 he has practically put a dagger in my hand and I will have no reservations about sticking it in his back.

The second ally is holding two things that are very important in the grand scheme of things; but it will most certainly be the most difficult task I'll face before we enter a state of warfare. The person is Archimedes Holden, Head of National Security: Cruel, vindictive and most possibly the man I hate most on this God forsaken planet. He is loyal to my father, basks in the violent spectacle of the Hunger Games and what makes it all so much more dramatic and consequently difficult: My much loathed Mr Holden is none other than the father to my beautiful baby girl, but I've come too far to let this little detail become a serious obstacle. In fact I'm looking forward to this; nothing would please me more than going toe to toe with this maleficent bastard once again. As they say we have history and as they say history is always told by the winners. I'll be the one telling the story, and I'll have both artefacts in my possession and my father and sperm donor will be none the wiser. This is a man's world, don't make me laugh; Men are the ones who sit on the throne but everyone knows that it is the women who have the control.

I stare at my reflection, not marred by those preposterous alterations the Capitol puppets favour despite my father's wishes, the golden blonde hair twisted in an elegant knot at the nape of my neck. Sleek and shining under the dull lights of my bedroom; my full lips painted a pale shade of rosy pink and icy blue eyes glittering beneath the layers of mascara and pastel pink eye shadow. I apply the rouge sparingly and grin at my reflection, sending a silent prayer that men think with only one part of their body and although it usually annoys me, in this instance I'm glad that the part is not their brain. I turn to leave; it is very uncouth for a woman to arrive late for a dinner date even if the man is nothing short of the bane of your existence and as a representative of the Presidential family, I am anything but uncouth. I

As I leave, I reflect on when me and my father would stand off over a chess board when I was younger; a tableaux of the power struggle, the battle of wills that has been raging since I realised that my father is nothing but an arrogant fool. Oh Daddy Dearest, we're still trapped on either side of that table but I've just made my move: Check, bastard. It's your move now, let's see how you slither your way out of this one you disgusting snake. I grab my ornate clutch bag and slam the door of my penthouse apartment. Oh Daddy, these games have begun: Panem is our arena and I've just gotten to the Cornucopia while you are dilly dallying on that little plate but you need to make your move quickly before you're blown into oblivion however appealing that may sound.

_**Phewww, I'm glad that is over...**_

_**Who do you think is the tribute interested in allying with our pyromaniac and obsessive genius? Let me know those thoughts.**_

_**On with training next chapter, now let me say... The wait for this chapter was not my fault, blame my boyfriend. How dare he whisk me away on a spontaneous trip to Italy? ;) Gotta love him...**_

_**REVIEW!**_

_**Oh and I have decided that I WILL be writing a sequel, solely because I find that my plans in terms of the rebellion sub plot will take up a lot of time so I am now here asking for tributes... because I will be introducing the new tributes throughout this story. If you're interested let me know through PM! (And I'll forward you my tribute form.) PLEASE submit ;) **_

_**So send me some interesting tributes! :D Earlier you get them sent in; the earlier I'll be able to introduce them...And I do have plans for them already :D Make them weird and wonderful, because I will be being picky... accepting only who I think will benefit the story!**_


	38. Don't Be Scared

_**And now we return for the second day of training, eeeeshhh... time is ticking by and in no time the timer will hit 0 and KABOOM the games really begin! I love writing the Pre Games, seeing the characters develop and all the little plans being put into motion... Plus, for the longish wait, I give you a longish chapter!**_

_**But of course we may as well try to speed through the training days and get to something more meaty/ brutal!**_

_**So on with the show...**_

**Crimson Hardwick, Gamemaker.**

I, like my colleagues Seneca and Plutarch, am nothing short of completely exhausted. My body is running solely on caffeine derived from my personal Holy Grail, or more commonly known as a cup of coffee. Despite the fact my lethargy hangs over our heads like a vicious storm cloud, it cannot dampen my mood. The satisfaction that I am involved in what will be the greatest Hunger Games ever known, my name will be remembered: Admired by my fellow Capitolites and feared by every piece of slime that tarnishes the districts of Panem. Every sublime contraption, every fearsome mutt that I've created will be immortalised; some may call me a sadist, criticise me for basking in the tributes pain but it is my job and above all: I make it entertaining. I'm good at my job, my cruelty however horrific is efficient and I solemnly swear that these tributes are in for a great shock when they step into the arena.

I glance at Plutarch and Seneca, both wearing sly grins which mirror my own; they nod their heads in my direction; their smirks communicating their pride at our success the previous evening or more accurately the early hours of this morning. The tributes are a 'lively' bunch this year, talking amongst one another and laughing but I can assure you that they wouldn't be laughing if they knew what was waiting for them; they wouldn't be fighting amongst one another like the mongrels they are if they knew how they would be punished and if they dare display any sense of unity like that vomit inducing round of applause I was unfortunate enough to witness yesterday.

Oh, Fiona Harkin. The poor girl's physical ailment was already a distinct disadvantage when entering my playground, but allowing her temper to overwhelm her and dictate her actions was the most inappropriate and plainly stupid thing she could have done. Insubordination is unacceptable, we as the Capitol were gracious enough as to allow someone as unworthy as her into our Eden and yet she disrespected our rules and fortunately I was given the honour of 'disciplining' these new tributes. And Lyle Carrington, handsome but as mentally inept as an amoeba without a brain cell in sight, despite being warned a number of times by the training staff he continued to be ruled by his Neanderthal emotions and trying to choke the girl to death. Thinking of what awaits them both once they are brought from under sedation makes me want to dance in glee, shout my joy from the rooftops but I remain impassive; the role of a Gamemaker expects me to remain just shy of emotionless, to assess the tributes and tailor make an arena that would slowly break them down. That is the most pleasurable part of my job, watching every tribute break down and become the uncivilised animals that they truly are and knowing that my creations are the cause; watching the horrid cretins trying to hold onto their vestiges of the illusion that is humanity.

I lift the chalice of white wine to my lips and take a long swig; the citrus flavouring with the melon undertones is both refreshing and delectable on my palette. I slump further into my armchair; adjusting the purple robes I wear to signify my status as Gamemaker, the Hunger Games are like a fine wine. The first taste you register is the bloodshed and unadulterated violence, but beneath that is the dramatic undertones of deceit and 'romance'; then there is the scientific spectacle of mutts and traps, the suspense of how a tribute will meet their untimely end. This is what makes the world go around and around, entertainment and a poignant reminder of how it is the Capitol that ceases control. A reminder of how the Capitol reigns supreme and without the Capitol, the districts would fall into anarchy.

"If only they knew what we had waiting for them..." I hear a few chuckles from my colleagues at a comment made by a young Gamemaker who begins to laugh; this incompetent boy may share my thoughts on this particular matter but I condemn him for his stupidity. A cardinal, though unwritten rule, is that we remain silent on any matters concerning the Games which could be overheard by any of the tributes: We drink, we eat and we laugh but the Hunger Games is never the topic of discussion if he continues in this manner he won't go far in this profession. I make a mental note that if this boy continues being an incompetent fool, to request he becomes my personal Avox: Elaine is getting old now, I'll be requiring a replacement soon enough and that brainless buffoon would do perfectly. I can almost taste my admonishment like an acid burning through my skin in an attempt to burst from my lips, I begin to rise from my chair when I hear Seneca quietly scold the boy; I sink back into my chair, satisfied. These pathetic newbies need to learn the ropes and extremely quickly for if they continue to annoy me, I could make their lives most unpleasant.

Eventually the mindless drivel that my colleagues deem to be conversation, zoning out the chatter about the latest fashions and who is sleeping with whom. As if I require advice on fashion, with my scarlet skin and my platinum blonde hair that falls to my feet: I inspire fashions. And as for the adultery, I have more interesting things to think about such as how I will be tormenting the tributes in a matter of days. I bring my focus onto the tributes as they move from station to station, trying to learn skills that could help them survive; the desperation mingles with the excitement to create an atmosphere that I admit is almost arousing. The boy from 7 is throwing axe after axe at targets, his accuracy is rather surprising but his gentle demeanour tells me that this boy will not be a bloodthirsty hound who scours the arena in search of tributes to mindlessly slaughter, a dreadful shame but that doesn't mean that under the stress of survival in our two pronged arena that he will maintain this disposition. Everyone is capable of murder, and it is so much more satisfying seeing those who are reluctant to unleash their inner murderous fiend.

I turn to inspect my nails, painted a shocking white and filed to resemble claws; this at times can become incredibly tiresome, there truly is only so many times you can watch as a child fails to light a fire. There is a limited amounts of time I can endure seeing that useless girl from 5 break down into tears as the knives she is throwing repeatedly miss the target; As a seasoned Gamemaker I pride myself on being able to spot those who will perish, every year I can narrow down the tributes to around the final 3 and this year is no different. The 12 year olds will meet their fate in the bloodbath, as will the weeping mess that is the girl from 5 and the boy from 3 has bloodbath written across his forehead. I watch as the girl from 10 throws a lasso at a dummy securing it around the neck, before pulling it toward her with impressive force; enough force in fact that if the dummy were a fellow tribute they would find that their neck had been broken. Impressive, her masculine physique although not conventionally beautiful impresses me; the arch of her back as she plunges a spear into the dummy, approximately where the heart would be and I imagine blood pouring from the wound. So far this girl has escaped my notice but her clinical approach to demolishing a dummy has caught my interest, I'll be keeping an eye on her.

I am watching as the male tribute from district two decapitates a dummy with one swipe when I hear a buzzing in my ear; I flip my focus to my hands free communication device, flipping the switch. Nobody would contact a senior Gamemaker unless it were an emergency and seeing as this particular device is solely for Hunger Games issues I do not hesitate in answering the call.

"Gamemaker Crimson, we are suffering some difficulties in regard to mutation 1348; the chemical compound is reacting with other mutations. We need you in the laboratory as soon as possible to rectify these problems as soon as possible seeing as all mutations need to be cleared and then transported to a secure environment before deployment to the arena." I close the communication instantly, meeting Seneca's eyes across the room. I register his alarm, akin to my own, and raise my eyebrow. What could have happened? We were fine tuning all aspects of the arena and its contents this morning and there were no significant causes for concern, he nods his head discretely and despite my oncoming anxiety attack, I rise from my chair and walk across the platform. Radiating confidence so successfully I could for almost a second I fool myself but as I feel Crane's eyes burning into my back I realise I'm walking on egg shells; If my name is to remembered as the greatest Gamemaker of all time then this needs to be perfect. These will be the most remarkable Hunger Games in all of Panem's history; I will make sure of it.

**Nicoli Spinoza, District One.**

I grew up as a young boy completely engrossed in anything that concerned the Capitol, its culture. The remarkable fashion, art and general air of elegance and I must admit that throughout my stay I haven't been disappointed; The gourmet food sets my taste buds on fire, I come from an affluent family in District 1 and I often ate at the most reputable restaurants but the beef wellington I ate yesterday. Well, it was so succulent and seasoned to perfection it makes me think that anything I ate before coming to the Capitol was completely bland; as though I was munching on cardboard. But I cannot afford to ramble on about how completely and utterly fabulous I think the Capitol is, the focus of today is training and I find it just so stimulating: If I ever want to pursue a career in dance, although as of late I have been considering a career in fashion design, I need to maintain a good physique and for that I must keep up with a routine of physical conditioning.

On another note, this training centre is a sublime example of the materialistic superiority of the Capitol; every weapon is manufactured to the highest possible quality, balanced to perfection and the blades are razor sharp. All the equipment is so modern and then every surface is spotlessly clean and polished so thoroughly that you could admire your reflection all day long; as Ruby seems to know as every time I see her she seems to be admiring herself as if she is a Michelangelo sculpture. So quick to underestimate me because of general exuberance yet so keen to overestimate her own abilities, her thought patterns confuse me but I let it all slide the longer she underestimates me; the more likely I'll survive this whole ordeal. Imagine it though, the blood and gore seriously turns my stomach something awful. My father had better be proud if I somehow manage to become Victor. I take a few more moments to admire the apparatus and the minimalistic architectural flare of the room before I'm brought out of my little bubble.

"And may I ask Nikki, why you're staring into space?" I turn and give Sandy a mega watt smile, despite her tendency to speak fluent sarcasm as though it is her first language I rather enjoy her company. Her naturally sassy aura reminds me of my sister Priscilla, and you know what they say about home comforts in unfamiliar places. She grins at my embarrassment at getting caught catching flies yet again and I feel a pink blush crawling up from my neck and burning into my cheeks so vividly I wouldn't be surprised if I could glow in the dark; I really need to learn to keep focussed. Everyone has always said that my knack for wandering off into wonderland would be the death of me, and as Sheen has pointed out more than once: In my current situation it actually could be what puts me six feet under. I shrug my shoulders and wave my hands frantically as if trying to communicate something that even I can't seem to understand. She laughs and I find myself laughing along, I cover my face with my hands and try to imagine as if this whole 'Make A Fool Of Myself' episode would just disappear and never be spoken of again.

"I don't think this is exactly the time for laughing you two." I turn to find Claude with his arms folded across his chest, Sandy just rolls her eyes and mouths 'Party Pooper' and I bite my lip to stop myself from giggling. He is the epitome of a stern father figure; I nod my head at him, I suppose that he is right and now is the time for training and not for a good old giggle. I turn to grab a sword but before I can I can hear Sandy scolding Claude in a whisper and when I turn to look back I can see he has gone an admirable shade of puce that I think I may just have to perform the Heimlich and it is now Sandy standing there with her arms folded and glaring at the 6' man. It is just too funny, due to the differences in height it seems as though a child is telling off an adult and it sets me off again. My hands are on my knees and my ribs are aching with how much I'm laughing, tears of mirth are streaming down my face and in no time Sandy and Claude are laughing like loons. I know that this doesn't really play up to the whole 'Intimidating Career' thing we're meant to be doing but what were we meant to do? And in all honesty I am a firm believer in that laughter makes the world go around.

"Stop it now; you are careers so begin acting like it. You are meant to be intimidating the other tributes, not becoming the source of entertainment. They should fear you, not laugh at you. You will be slaughtering these people in a matter of days after all." His voice is a menacing hiss that silences my laughter instantaneously. If Sandy called Claude a party pooper, I wonder what she would call Kai for his lecture. But that isn't the point right now, the point is that all laughter has ceased and we're now locked in a bubble of sobriety. Our little balloon of fun has truly defeated since Kai has been blunt enough to point out that within the week we will all, more than likely anyways, will become cold blooded killers. That recognition kind of brings the mood down and I feel my shoulders slump as any vestiges of joy have just vanished into thin air.

"And who are you..." I manage to silence Sandy with a quick look, thankfully. But the damage is done, Kai and Sandy are glaring at one another so vehemently that I wouldn't be surprised if they both just spontaneously combusted; which would be an awful shame seeing as I like Sandy, we are actually becoming friends and I mean genuine friends not frenemies like me and my backstabbing bint of a district partner. I almost giggle to myself at my rather witty use of alliteration but stop myself when I realise that two of my allies are probably going to start throwing punches if I don't do something soon. How on Earth does the career alliance even survive past the bloodbath? I mean with all these strong personalities there is bound to be a bit of drama, and I am not ashamed to admit that I love a bit of drama but God, or anyone, give me strength. But this is just ridiculous; I swear that without me it would dissolve into chaos and they would be tearing chunks out of one another. Literally, I swear to God or whoever is up there that by the end of the Hunger Games I'll either be dead or grey haired after having to deal with all of this. Which I think is completely pointless, I'll point out. I take a moment to sigh in exasperation before arranging my features into my biggest smile which, according to Priscilla is so bright it could blind a person.

"Guys, I wonder what they're serving for lunch..." Okay, I don't know where that came from but it seems to have done the job; moments ago, the air was so thick with tension it could suffocate an unsuspecting person but now it has evaporated. Disappeared as quickly as a tramp confronted with soap; but now they're all looking at me, even Ruby has managed to pull herself away from the reflective surfaces near the weaponry rack to ogle me like I'm some exotic animal on display in a zoo. Should I bow? Guessing from the looks that range from exasperation on Claude's behalf, seething range for Kai, shock and confusion graces Ruby's pretty face and Sandy looks as though she is a matter of seconds away from bursting with laughter. Okay, add getting a verbal filter alongside learn to focus on what seems to be my ever growing to-do list. So instead I shrug, and thankfully the bell for lunch rings throughout the room and everyone quickly disperses and I'm no longer in the ultimate spot light of total humiliation and I sent a silent prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening up there. How ironic and slightly cliché though: I've been saved by the bell. Sandy gestures towards the lunch hall and I begin to follow her.

"Nikki, don't be scared of Kai. If he tries anything you know that me and Claude will have your back." I don't know why but I feel hurt and more than a little peeved; just because I'm a genuinely nice person that doesn't mean that I am coward. I could literally pull my hair out if I weren't afraid of spoiling the way it is styled into casual disarray; I am not scared of Kai or anyone for that matter. I'm just as strong as and technically better trained than him if his spear throwing skills are anything to go by. But because I decided to try and stop these lot starting World War Whatever it somehow makes me the weak one. It's called diplomacy people; you should try it sometime seeing as it will save me a bucket load of stress and the horror of premature wrinkles. I hope they're serving copious amounts of alcohol at lunch today because I think I'll need it.

And to make matters worse, I've been in training a full half a day and I've done absolutely nothing; More concerned with the quality of the weapons than actually picking them up and doing something. Great, that is really the cherry on top: Next thing I know they'll be saying I'm scared of the bloody sword. I just sigh to myself, before giving Sandy a quick grin and heading into the lunch hall; unfortunately there is no alcohol so I go down the 'stuff yourself until it gets better route' and pile my plate so high it begins to resemble a small mountain and for desert I think I'll have chocolate ice cream and lots of it; then everything will definitely be better even though I'll have to work my fingers, feet and any other appendages to the bone in training this afternoon to make sure I don't get fat or something. Imagine the actual awfulness that would be if I didn't fit in my suit for the interviews. And on that note maybe I'll skip the desert.

**Lacey Burton, District 8.**

For the last two days I've had my most charming smile plastered on my face, Cecelia told me to appear innocent, cute and generally approachable; the purpose of this was to find someone who would like to ally themselves with me but so far that plan isn't working because I see alliances forming around me, they just don't seem to involve me. In all honesty though I cannot blame anybody, this is a game of survival: You'd only want to ally yourself with the strongest, and however much I would wish for it to be different. I am not the strongest, physically anyway. They've all fell for my carefully constructed charade of Lacey Burton the sweetheart from District 8, who throughout the duration of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games will be known as 'Panem's Angel' or that is what Cecelia tells me.

When in fact they are dealing with something so much different, if only they knew; it's not as though I can jump on one of these lunch tables and scream at the top of my lungs: 'Hey, someone ally with me. I'm not as pathetic and useless as I look, Promise. I don't even call myself Lacey anymore; I've sacrificed my identity in order to become a vindictive little girl who would slit your throat without a second thought but don't you worry I'd still have this stupid smile slapped on my face while I do it.' I mean it sounds completely ridiculous to me and I'm pretty sure it would send any potential allies running for the hills.

I take my plate and head over to a table at the far side of the room, I sit down and just stare at the food before me; it tastes great but I don't want to eat this food. I just want to go home; I want to eat the food my mother made me. I want to lock myself in my mother's shop and just sew, read a book. Do anything else but stuck in the Hunger Games, but I can't do that. I can't see my family until 23 others are dead and I'm the last girl standing; I can't see my friends until their quiet and dainty friend is replaced by a twisted mass murderer. I sniffle, I don't want to kill anyone but it is necessary but even if it is necessary does that make it any less horrific?

No, I'll never be the little girl I was before this whole mess; I can't just go home and continue living my life as if this never happened: The smile on my face will never be full of innocence like before I can imagine it now, it'll be a cruel smirk that tell of the atrocities I've committed. I won't be waved at in the streets as the sweet daughter of the seamstress, sister to Yarn the jokester: I'll be a person who is feared, good for nothing but killing children and I don't want that. I just want to be Lacey, I want my life back.

_You're weak, Lacey. You can't do this._ I look around, nobody is speaking; everyone else is engrossed in conversation. Who was it? I feel my heart beating like a hummingbird's wings, I continue to look around but I'm still alone. Alone. It's just me, it is me. It is my conscious or something, taunting me. But why? I'm Lacey Burton, I don't hear voices. I sew, I smile, I read but I don't hear voices in my head. I close my eyes, this is the Hunger Games: I'm not even Lacey anymore, I am the District 8 female and I will win. I am not weak.

_No, the District 8 girl isn't weak but you are Lacey. You don't want this; you don't want to see these people die do you? You're just the sweet innocent girl you can't do this._I cover my ears with my hands and try to drown out the voice, the taunts and the mockery but I can hear the sound of laughter ringing in my ears. I bite my lip and feel tears spring to my eyes; I am the District 8 girl and I can do this. I will do this; I will kill each and every one of them if I get the chance. I have to, but Lacey wouldn't. Lacey is good, but I'm not Lacey anymore am I?

_You are. You'll always be Lacey, weak and PATHETIC!_ No! I will be Lacey again, but I am not Lacey now. I slam my fork down on the table, my dainty hands are clenched into tight balls and every muscle is tensed; I am the one who will win. I will annihilate everybody because I am the District 8 girl and she will win the Hunger Games. Lacey Burton is gone, for now at least but she will come back. I will be innocent again, sweet and loved but not now. I lift my hands to tug at my hair, bite down on my jaw. Why won't the voices shut up and leave me alone? Please, I promise I am the District 8 girl; I will win but please leave me alone.

My lip is trembling and I feel like screaming when another voice joins the din, a soft voice with a very. My body begin to rock as sobs erupt through my chest. I feel a hand rubbing soothing circles on my back, I jump from the contact and in my state of shock I scream but as I look around I can see I haven't attracted any attention. Everyone seems to be in their little bubble: The careers laughing amongst one another as the boy from 1, Nicoli seems to be performing some form of impersonation. I turn to see who was rubbing my back, my eyes are wide as I turn and I've caught my lower lip between my teeth. I know that I appear as the epitome of innocence and vulnerability. It is the tall girl from 10, from afar she looks fierce and if I'm being honest more than a little scary with her long roan hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her muscled limbs rippling as she wields a spear with terrifying efficiency.

But up close she isn't fearsome; her face is lit up with concern: her vivid green eyes wide and a small smile curls at the corner of her lips. The very same smile I've seen so many times on my mother's face: A mother's worry that world renowned maternal instinct to protect the young. She may not appear to the terrifying girl I'd perceived her to be but that doesn't mean that she wouldn't be a formidable ally now would it. I stop the cunning grin which was about to blossom onto my pointed features; my newest mantra is what would the District 8 girl do? She would work this situation to her advantage, and as I have been saying: I am the District 8 girl.

_Well done. Maybe you're not so weak after all are you? Show us you're not pathetic. You know what to do. _I sniffle and avert my eyes to the ground, avoiding meeting her eyes. I wait a few moments and I hear the scraping of a chair against the linoleum floor; I continue to snivel, my tiny arms folded across my chest. The key to success is making yourself appear as weak as possible, frail before striking like a cobra; I feel a finger tilt my chin until blue eyes meet green. She drops her hand but leans towards me.

"Are you okay? Is there anything I can help you with?" Well this little scheme will be easier than I expected, I look down and shrug my shoulders as I breathe out loud as if to say I'm anything but okay. Her face softens but her eyebrow quirks in a way that tells me that she expects me to elaborate; I begin to twirl my fork between my fingers before pushing my food around my plate. I sigh and then leave it a few moments, to suggest I'm deliberating whether or not to trust her.

"I'm just scared, I'm here alone and I'm not ready for this. I'll never be ready and I can't crush the fear that has been building up inside of me; everyone else has formed alliances and I'm alone. I mean who would want to ally with me. Weak and pathetic." The rant just bursts from my lips, tears are welling in my eyes and my voice cracked with what I'm sure she thought was desperation; Lacey Burton never fancied herself as an actress but the District 8 girl deserves an award for her acting skills. The girls face falls as she contemplates what I've said but I note how her eyes keep flickering to me. I make my eyes as wide as possible and my lower lip begins to tremble as if I am holding back tears. Then I see it, the decision is made and I cannot help but feel smug.

"Well, I'm alone too and I suppose the famous saying is that two heads are better than one. So, I'm Ginna and I was wondering if you would like to join an alliance." Glee. An indescribable joy bursts inside of me: I came to dinner pitying myself for being without an ally, well that has certainly changed. I rise from my chair and skip to her side before wrapping my arms around her. At first she seems frozen with shock but then she reacts and wraps me in her arms and strokes my hair; I snuggle further into her, after all she is the maternal one and I need to be the one she wants to protect.

"Thank you. I'm Lacey by the way and I would be so happy to be your ally." I clap my hands together and basically jump up and down, the key to securing this alliance is to be as child like as possible. The seemingly weaker and childish I am, the more she will feel as though she needs to protect me and the more committed to the alliance she is, the easier it will be to exploit her caring nature. The more she trusts me, the easier it will be to plant a knife between her shoulders. She pushes me back to hold me at arms length and I scuff my shoes against the floor, she tells me to eat some more but her voice is drowned out by another voice. But no longer is the voice taunting me, it is praising me.

_District 8 girl, you're one step closer to winning this and then you get to be Lacey again._

**Virginia 'Ginna' Wallace, District 10.**

Maybe it is the fact that I've effectively been a mother to my younger siblings since my father was stolen from us and my mother's consequent downward spiral into a life of binge drinking and depression; two years since I became my mother's personal punching bag. Some would call me a fool, in fact they need not tell me because I know that my actions are foolish but I'm powerless in this situation. Maternal instinct is a powerful thing, and I couldn't stop myself from heading over to see if the young girl was okay; so now I find myself sitting at lunch and chatting with Lacey, my ally.

"...but sometimes Yarn would blame me but Mom always knew he was lying. I could never do something like that..." I feel a small smile spread across my face as she talks with a child like enthusiasm about her life at home; her bickering with her sibling. She is gesturing with her hands, as if trying to explain something that cannot be put into words and I nod along as she continues telling me tales about life in District 8; it is relaxing to sit here sharing stories about home. Memories flit through my consciousness: Viridian riding a horse, Romany and Carter doing everything in perfect synchronization as always and little Loretta dancing in the back garden. So young, so carefree. I am pulled from the well of my memories as I see the smile that seems to be permanently etched onto Lacey's face since I proposed the alliance slip away, only momentarily but that is all it takes for my caring nature to rear its head.

However sentimental this may sound, looking at Lacey looking so crestfallen strikes something deep within me. I can't help but imagine Romany, Carter, Loretta or even Viridian being forced into this situation; it is simply horrible. This little girl doesn't deserve any of this, none of us deserve this but we are all subject to the powers that be and however much I'd like it all to be different I know that there is nothing I can do to change any of it. We will all have to fight it out, 24 hearts enter that arena beating but only 1 will leave and it has to be me. This epiphany dampens my mood, I just stare at the wooden table and trace along the grains with my finger. By now Lacey has returned to smiling brightly and telling me about her home life.

"... Working in the shop is difficult but there is something so fulfilling about knowing you made it, I'm practically glued to the sewing machine but I love it. Oh and books, if I'm not on the sewing machine I am buried in a book. Another land, fairytales where it ends with everyone living happily ever after..." I smile, this girl has a life; she feels the same sense of achievement working with textiles as I do when I see my siblings accomplish something. Pride. We both have lives to live, things we want to do but she never will. I will do all I can to help Lacey in these games but eventually we will part ways, only one of us can win and even though her life will not be taken by my hand; it must be me who wins. The bell rings to signal the end of lunch and I get to my feet quickly with Lacey trailing behind me chattering about various stitches and sewing techniques; the bell couldn't have come at a better time if you ask me. I can't continue to dwell on these thoughts, I came here to win and I can't allow anything to distract me: Even my maternal instinct, which is the most defining aspect of my character. For my family, I would do anything; compromise my character and if it came down to it, I would even take down my angelic ally.

So why did I make the decision to take Lacey as my ally? I made a vow to myself that I could do this alone; I'd turned down Carrick's proposition for an alliance because I couldn't afford to get close to anyone but now I'm in an alliance with a tiny 12 year old who so far hasn't demonstrated any skills although seeing how she has worked with dyes and her fingers appear to be nimble from years of sewing since she was twirling her cutlery through her fingers with such ease. The sole reason is that I have never been fond of the old philosophy 'do as I say not as I do', I've always lead by example. If by some horrid twist of fate, one of my younger sisters were reaped then I would want an older tribute to take them under their wing and to help them as much as possible; I couldn't let this little girl enter these games alone, it's inhumane and for her it would spell certain death. How could I let that happen?

We enter the training room and I look around the room, my father always told me to 'know thy enemy' and I appreciate that saying more than ever now that I've been drafted into the Hunger Games; if I stand any chance of beating these 23 other children then I need to know anything and everything I can. The careers once again congregate near the weaponry; twirling knives, swords and spears with grace and accuracy but it doesn't intimidate me in the slightest. Yes, they've practiced their lives but prancing around a centre with a sword in hand is no judge of your skill; skill is wielding that spear on a ranch, lassoing and then slaughtering livestock for a living not because your parents want to send you into a death match for something as trivial as 'family honour' or 'district pride'. I do not fear them; I pity them for being so deluded as to think they can win this so easily.

I note that the Autumn girl from 5 is hiding in a corner, her eyes shrewd as she watches everyone else learning the art of murder. I pity the girl, she isn't strong enough for this; she is trying to learn vicariously. Scared to even hold a knife, I would try and comfort her but whenever I try to approach her she either disappears or her district partner appears and comforts her; but I don't underestimate this young woman despite her frail exterior. As I said, she is stealthy and I could imagine it now: Appearing from nowhere and slipping a knife in my back. To the left the alliances from 6 and 11 are gathered at the knot tying station; I have noted the young girl has done nothing but learn about survival skills whereas her district partner has been focusing on handling a sword.

Nic from 11 spent some time with me at the spear throwing station as he was rather good, well he was able to hit the target, but his speciality seems to be the slingshot and although it sounds stupid I am wearier of him than most simply because his weapon of choice is ranged. Anyone who strikes from a distance is a cause for concern, I could defend myself in close combat and I can throw a spear but slingshots allows to strike quickly and more discretely then hurling a spear through the air. Logically, he should be one of the tributes I should target but thinking about killing this boy who is laughing along with his timid district partner is repulsive; knowing my actions could make it so that he could never laugh again sends a shiver down my spine. I don't realise I'm standing there until I feel Lacey tugging at the sleeve of the snug black sweater I wear for training; I turn and smile as I see her chewing on her lip nervously.

"Yes Lacey, is there a particular station you would like to go to?" I look down at my tiny ally as her shining blue eyes skim across each of the stations, a contemplative expression making its way onto her face; I wait patiently until she lifts her dainty hand and points over to the camouflage station. No surprises there, coming from District 8 where she would be working alongside dyes and textiles as well as nurturing a keen eye for detail. We head over to the station and Lacey begins to chatter as she grinds berries in a pot.

"...if we can't afford a particular shade my brother will go off into the meadow down by the cemetery; the red berries there if mixed in with ammonia creates a wonderful shade..." I smile as I relax for the first time since being reaped, being near someone so young just makes me reminisce about home. Solidifying my conviction to win, I close my eyes and saviour the feather light touch as Lacey trails her long fingers across my face in circular motions. I am brought out of my trance when the pressure disappears, I turn and to see my allies big blue eyes staring up at me as if awaiting my verdict.

I walk over to the mirror and I'm taken aback by the exotic creature I find staring back at me with wide green eyesand her lips parted in disbelief: I have always grown up thinking I was ugly. I was never dainty; I was too tall and too muscular to ever be feminine but Lacey's magical fingers have performed a miracle. The delicate blend of pinks and purples, the way the shades blend together to create something I think could only ever be called an artistic masterpiece; it simply transforms my face. The lighter shades make my jaw appear softer, the planes of my cheekbones appear softer and sharper whereas the darker shades make my nose appear thinner and my green eyes appear larger; I had always likened myself to the Amazonian women of times past and now I'm as exotic and radiant as the women who haunted the Amazon Rainforest. This is the only time I have ever deemed myself as beautiful and I am rendered speechless. Lacey's face becomes worried and she appears to be shrinking despite her miniature physique, I just shake my head at her and smile.

"Thank you Lacey, it is wonderful. I've never seen anything so beautiful...You're very talented, somehow you've managed to make me look pretty." My voice is hoarse from trying to hold back tears and despite my best efforts to remain strong, anyone could hear my voice crack. Lacey skips to stand beside me and for the second time today wraps her tiny arms around my waist.

"Don't cry Ginna, you're really pretty without the paints." And any form of control over my emotions evaporates like water in the desert on the spot and silent tears begin to stream down my face. Lacey is the first person outside of my family who has ever called me 'pretty' and however stupid it may seem it makes me think about my family. Has mother turned her wrath upon Viridian or one of the girls? I take a few deep breaths to try and regain some composure; this image is wrong. I am the 17 year old, I should be the one comforting her as I did earlier; I need to be in control in order to make sure this alliance reaches its best potential. I stand to my fullest height, my voice comes out with the distinctive tone of authority that not even Romany or Carter would question.

"Now Lacey, we can't afford to waste time while training. So I think you should head over to the trapping station, with those nimble fingers of yours you could do really well. I'll go and look at making and finding shelter. Give it an hour and we'll try with climbing and plant identification." Lacey nods her head before skipping off towards the trapping station with her glowing smile on her face; I shake my head at how quickly she has gone from the scared little girl to this smiling girl radiating confidence as well as instilling me with a sense of confidence I didn't possess until I stumbled upon this little angel. And I am proud, and to know I've managed to make this young girl feel safer and more confident is an achievement that seems like a ray of sunshine amongst the back drop of storm clouds that is the Hunger Games.

_**Okayyy... one more chapter for the second day and then it is the Gamemaker sessions and we won't be seeing them all either... Okay...**_

_**So what is in store for Lyle and Finn by Crimson? What do you think of Seneca Crane's right hand woman?**_

_**Nikki, poor soul... How on Earth will he be able to keep up with all the drama within the Career alliance?**_

_**And Lacey having a mental breakdown before the arena but still maintaining that little facade of hers. I wonder what'll happen next for our District 8 girl?**_

_**Ginna, her maternal instinct flares to life... Will it be her downfall? Or will she wise up to the manipulative ways of her tiny ally?**_

_**Leave me your reviews and after the interviews I'll be opening another poll... but let me know now, who are you favourite tributes? **_


	39. Alliance Central

_**I am back again with the next chapter... Training is a bit of a drag but we're only 5 or so chapters away from the real action! The bloodbath is written and I haven't done the usual thing of only killing three people! I've gone for what I hope to be a more realistic where I kill around 7 or 8...**_

_**I am not impressed with this chapter whatsoever, although I am growing fonder of Archie... He seems like a real person. **_

_**So let's finish this second day of training...**_

**Archie Cross, District 12.**

Ever since Livvya told me that Carrick was interested in an alliance, the feeling of elation I've been carrying round with me has yet to deflate. Since the total embarrassment of the Chariot Rides I was convinced that Livvya and I would be stuck on our own, as I told Effie: Who would want to ally with two tributes that were paraded before the whole of Panem completely naked and wearing nothing but black body shimmer? Never mind that these two very same tributes hail from District 12, the very same district that has the poorest record of success in regards to the Hunger Games. Some has gone as far to say as any of the tributes from my district are cursed to fail, which I suppose doesn't bode well for me at all seeing as, despite my disbelief in superstition, it seems the Cross family has been cursed by God, fate or whatever it is that decided whatever path we are to walk upon. It would be selfish of me not to win, to deprive my family of another son in such a short period of time.

Subconsciously my hand reaches to the crucifix around my neck; the token I will be taking into the games. I don't personally believe in God, for if there was an Omni benevolent being out there why would he take Aly? Why would he allow those awful people to taunt him? Why wouldn't he have given Aly the strength to endure the bullying? But on the other hand why would he have put Aly, who was always so firm in his beliefs, in a situation where he would have been the butt of cruel jokes? But I have come to a realisation during my time here in the Capitol, my determination to live will not be enough to grant my wish of returning home and wiping the vicious smirks from all of my former bully's faces and growing old with a woman I am yet to fall in love with. Like Aly, I must draw strength from my belief; not belief in God or in some other supernatural being. Belief in myself, belief in the fact that I am not like any of the other tributes from District 12: I am not like the Seam children with olive skin and grey eyes nor am I a merchant child with blonde locks and blue eyes. I am Archie Cross, with my short golden hair, tanned skin and green eyes. I need to believe that out of everyone it will be me, Archie Cross, who can bring the title of Victor back to District 12.

But I have allies in Livvya and Carrick from District 10; and between us all we seem to have a good set of skills and I can see my chances of actually winning slowly rising. Carrick can tie the most complex of knots with complete ease, Livvya has proven to be incredibly useful in her ability to pick up survival skills rather quickly as well as climb like a spider monkey and to my complete surprise it appears I have a natural affinity for archery. I can hit the target and fire arrows rather rapidly, so it seems as though we have managed to cover all areas. Currently, we're learning how to identify plants by species and their uses and I've picked up a few tips but remembering large amounts of information was never my forte but I think I know how to identify poisonous plants which is altogether very useful; If by some miracle I can get my hands on a bow and some arrows then I could lace the arrowheads in poison. While I'm trying to arrange plants into categories I notice Carrick's pile of roots and berries remains untouched and I look over to see him staring off into the distance.

"Caz, what's up?" He shakes his head and turns back to me with a goofy grin on his face, but it doesn't hide worry that lingers in his eyes. He shrugs and I may not be the most sociably aware person but I know to interpret this gesture as meaning 'I don't know really want to talk about it' and I respect that, Mom always told us that you need to give people their space and they'll tell you eventually. So, I turn back to my pile of plants and while I deliberate putting eucalyptus root in the edible plant or the medicinal pile but just as I'm about to throw it in the medicinal pile I hear a huff of breath escape Carrick; everything about the sound screams exasperation so I put down everything I am holding and turn to him. Just as I realised when to leave Carrick to his own devices, I now recognise that this is the time to listen to what is troubling my usually carefree ally.

"It's Ginna, I'm a bit worried about her." I feel the canvas that is my face becomes painted with an expression of confusion. Carrick and Ginna's relationship to me has seemed amicable at most; they acknowledge one another with a nod of their head but they hardly speak. I tense as I contemplate if he and Ginna are secret allies and Carrick is planning to betray Livvya and I but that thought vanishes almost instantly. If Carrick was planning to turn on me, he wouldn't exactly be ready to open up to me would he? Paranoia is for when we enter the arena, not now. I pat him on the back as I think of how to handle the situation.

"And why exactly would you be worried?" A simple question, remain objective and don't give an opinion: My mother has taught me quite a lot. Shame I've only learnt that now that I have a death sentence dangling above my head; but either way I am thankful. Tact is as good a weapon as a sword in these games, when handling delicate situations inappropriately could get you killed. Carrick shrugs his shoulders, but his trademark grin appears on his face and I grin back at him: Whatever it is cannot be too serious if he is able to maintain his jokey demeanour.

"I just don't get why she allied herself with the little girl from 8; when I proposed an alliance with her she said she was going at it alone. I think it is weird to choose a 12 year old over someone 16 and well more 'able bodied'" I shrug my shoulders, I haven't a clue as to what made Ginna change her mind but I can tell that it is troubling Carrick a little. I take a few moments to consider what to do: Remember I need to be as tactful as possible.

"Why don't you go and ask her about it? Maybe she'd want to join our alliance; you know what they say about the more the merrier." He looks up at me, clearly considering pursuing my idea. I just smile; I mean what is the worst that can happen? The more people in the alliance, the higher our chance of survival. My little idea is starting to sound better and better in my head. Carrick nods his head, a playful grin on his lips; he runs a calloused hand through his closely cropped blonde hair before climbing to his feet. I watch him make his way over and start chatting with his district partner; I turn back to my plants. After a few minutes I glance back over toward the shelter making station and sigh at the sight that awaits me: Carrick and Ginna seem to be engrossed in what I would call a heated discussion; I smack my palm against my forehead. I know I should have gone with him, in a situation like this tact would be extremely helpful and however funny Carrick may be, he isn't what I would call the most tactful person on the planet.

I climb to my feet, making sure to thank the trainer for his help before heading over to the two, I try to remain in the background and assess the situation before deciding whether or not I should interfere. I have the strangest urge to give myself a pat on the back, I've never been the most cautious person but these games have already begun to change me and all I can do is hope they're changing into a man who can win these games. Carrick seems to be getting rather exasperated if his exaggerated gestures are anything to go by, and I decide then it is my time to intervene.

"... Exploiting my maternal nature, Carrick I don't want to be blunt but I don't need to be advised on how to deal with children. I have raised 3 children for the last 2 years and held a household together single handed. I think I know how to deal with Lacey." Ginna, who seems fierce most of the time, now looks as if she is seconds away from ripping Carrick limb from limb; her green eyes narrowed and fists balled at her side so the muscles that line her arms stand out sharply against her taut skin. Despite Carrick being rather muscular, I genuinely fear for his welfare if he continues irking Ginna but self preservation, along with tact, are qualities that seem to elude Carrick.

"Exactly. Your maternal nature; how do you know she isn't playing you like a fool?" Carrick's voice is hushed, but you can hear how much he is trying to stress his point but Ginna just folds her arms and stands his down. I think the term appropriate for now is stalemate, neither side is winning and nobody can make a move or is willing to back down; this is when I should step in. I clear my throat to grab their attention, instantly Ginna glowers and me and Carrick looks at me helplessly, as if I can click my fingers and make everything okay. If only it were that easy, I wouldn't be about here in the Hunger Games; if it were that easy there wouldn't even be the Hunger Games.

"I think I have something that allows you to keep Lacey safe but also reassure Carrick. We could combine alliances; now listen. Us 3 are all able bodied and would be able to protect Liv and Lacey; it'll be like a safety net really. The more of us, the longer we survive; Seeing that the careers are 5, our alliance would be as large as theirs and I doubt they would want to pick a fight." I look for the reactions, Carrick is nodding his head in blatant approval which doesn't surprise me; he wants to go home to his girlfriend, any little factor which would help him win is great in his eyes. Ginna however seems to be reserving judgement; her stony face remains, but if you look closely enough you can see her eyes brighten as if she is thinking. Eventually she just nods her head and I breathe a sigh of relief, Carrick claps his hands before falling to his knees and grasping both of our hands.

"Till death do us part?" I chuckle at the return of his sense of humour, as does Ginna but in her eyes I see something else. A sadness, saddened by the irony of what Carrick has just said. The whole situation is sad, although my determination to win is as resolute as ever it is now marred by a strange sense of melancholy: 23 children will die, a number of them would have bright futures ahead of them if it were not for these sick games: They could be stars so bright they could rival a supernova, all that awaits me is a normal life. Grow up, have kids and die happily at a great age; not the brightest star, but I still shine even if it isn't so obviously bright. Plus I am selfish, I want to win. I snap from my inner ramblings when an explosion racks the training room and the room begins to fill with thick, black smoke and the smell of singed hair. We all turn to where the sound originated: The chemical station.

The boy from 3 seems to have accidentally caused an explosion; everyone is staring as his head of shaggy brown hair emerges from the putrid black smoke; his face a mask of surprise. Covered head to toe in dust, he looks so frail and I feel pity well up inside of me: He'll probably end up blowing himself up. I shake my head at the poor boy from District 3, I will be surprised if he survives the bloodbath. From there chaos ensues: Trainers are rushing to the aid of the trainer at the station who was blown back by the force of the explosion and appears to be struggling to get to his feet, the careers are laughing like a pack of hyenas at the boys apparent misfortune. Everything appears to be a flurry of activity but I notice something, something I think is strange. Something that makes me think that explosion may not have been as accidental as I first thought and everyone else seems to still think. The boy's district partner is huddled in a corner in the far side of the room, engrossed in a deep conversation with none other than Bala of District 4. What is this? The emergence of a new alliance? An exchange of information? I doubt it, from what I've witnessed over the last two days Bala works alone, I have seen her flitting from station to station with what is nothing short of a fierce determination.

Soon after everything dies down and everyone returns to whatever they were doing before, Carrick and Ginna are trying to devise a strategy for when we enter the arena while I am content to sit and watch everyone go about their business. To learn what I can about my future opponents. More specifically Lacey from 8, my newest ally: seemingly harmless. Sweet as Ginna says, but Carrick believes to be manipulative. I find her at the trapping station, she is fiddling with a length of wire as she climbs an artificial tree; from there she creates what I can only call an incredibly elaborate trap, her gentle face screwed up in determination. Lopping the wire within itself and attaching it to an array of branches; she climbs down to drag a dummy over before climbing the tree yet again. She examines the trap for a few moments, looking for any flaws which could sabotage the mechanics; finding no mistakes , she flick a length of the wire. It all happens so quickly, I can only assume that the wire has acted as a garrotte for all I note is that the dummy is now headless. The appendage is rolling across the floor, I am shocked. I thought she would be a helpless 12 year old and admittedly her smile is as sweet as sugar, but she seems a lot deadlier than I with what I now know to be mediocre skills at swordplay.

Lacey will be a great ally, but with her lethally complex traps she also has the potential to be a formidable enemy. Despite her tiny physique, I am well aware that I could have ended up in an alliance with someone much worse. Like the boy from District 7 for example, he is muscular and his physical strength is undeniable plus I've seen him wield an axe so fluidly I'd say he has been using an axe since birth; his potential is unquestionable but he lacks that specific something that separates the fallen from the Victors. That certain brutality, to kill in order to survive: A quality it seems his red headed district partner has in abundance as she throws a trainer across the floor with ease despite her resemblance to a porcelain doll, appearing so petite and fragile. The boy on the other hand looks mortified as he throws his sparring partner to the crash mats; horrified by how he has 'hurt' someone and is currently apologising profusely. One thing I know for certain is that with us lot as tributes; these games will be more interesting than any that preceded them. They say that the cream rises to the top; the question now is who in this room can be classified as the cream?

**Aezir Marshton, District 9.**

The second day of training seems to be coming to a close, but I'm still unable to ease the agitation that has been nesting within my stomach; at first I thought it was because I was unsure of Fiona's fate. We may not be the closest of friends; in fact I would not say we were even on speaking terms but that doesn't mean I don't care. In fact, I care because not only does nobody deserve to be in the Hunger Games but nobody deserves to face the prospect of death before we even set foot in the arena. But it cannot be that because this morning in the District 9 camp we received the news that Finn was making a full recovery, but the anxiety didn't fade. In fact, it seemed to become worse; the knot in my stomach seemed to tighten even further if such a thing were possible. Despite my indifference and her smarmy attitude, I can't help but be concerned for her; in unfamiliar situations you grasp onto what is familiar and Fiona is familiar. Admittedly, I never knew of Fiona's actual existence until we were reaped but she still comes from home; I associate her with a familiar place and so I am more than concerned about her creating tension and wearing a red dress to a bull fight. Lyle, or whatever his name may be, may not hail from a career district but he is most definitely someone to watch but Fiona decides to make herself a powerful enemy by letting her mouth and fists run away with her.

I shake my head, akin to my concern is also a definite sense of annoyance directed toward my district partner; my thoughts have been burning through my skull like wildfire. I cannot afford to lose focus; I came here to win and having my thoughts dogged by my temperamental counter part is not exactly a way of maintaining focus. I grasp the handle of the sickles, weighing the weapons in my hands; they seem to be feather light and as the light glints along the curved blade I can't help but smile; wielding these blades also bring me that comforting caress of familiarity and as if by magic my mind blanks. All that exists right now is me, the sickles grasped in my calloused hands and the dummy before me: My enemy. I begin slowly, twirling the sickle and slicing the immobile dummy as though I was working the wheat fields back at home. The slashes come quicker and quicker and suddenly the mirage of a wheat field vanishes; standing before me now is the female career from 1, the rhythm builds and the sickle slices through the girl. Her silent scream dies as blood streams from the long wound across her stomach; I begin to jump from foot, skipping around the dummy as I cut through the dummy again and again; the greatest fighters do not stand like a tree, slashing wildly at the enemy before them. The greatest are like bamboo, strong yet pliable: Swaying in the breeze, my body curls in on itself as I dodge an imaginary blow coming from my left. I continue to dance the lethal tango, dodging imaginary blows as my hands wield the weapon with learned efficiency and continues to slice through the humanoid dummy until it is no longer recognisable.

My breath is ragged and I feel myself slumping from the flurry of activity but I feel a sense of overwhelming satisfaction; I have managed to regain the right frame of mind: No longer is my mind cluttered with thoughts of concern and sentimentality regarding myself and my feisty district partner. I have remembered myself, the hard working boy who came here to win no matter what; if blood stains my hands so be it for I will never see myself as a murderer. When killing becomes a necessity to survival, an instinct of self preservation then you can never be called a cold blooded killer: You are a survivor and I will survive. I will be going home; I will be seeing my family again. This is the right frame of mind; this is the frame of mind required of someone capable of surviving the atrocities of the Hunger Games; Do whatever is necessary and head into the games with your focus on one thing: Victory. With my resolution firm in my mind, I go to place the sickles back on the rack of melee weaponry but they clatter toward the ground and the crashing sound seems to echo but no one notices; they are all staring at the elevators or more specifically the two people who just exited.

Fiona and Lyle are standing side by side, pointedly ignoring one another as they enter the training centre. My first reaction is surprise; I thought that both tributes would miss the whole day of training as a punishment for breaking the rules. Fiona is glaring ahead, holding her head high but the tension between the two is palpable: Her jaw is set, arms held firmly at her sides with her hands balled into fists. Lyle's reaction couldn't be more different, a wide smile on his handsome face; a handsome face which I had expected to be scarred from the confrontation but remains flawless. His hands held in his pockets, radiating confidence and seeming totally at ease despite what happened the previous day; but I can see the way his eyes narrow in unadulterated loathing whenever they pass over Finn. What a prick, looking at the arrogant fool makes my muscles tense in anticipation; I think I understand why Fiona flew at him. I haven't spoken to him, but I can practically smell his arrogance from across the room; I can taste his sheer brutality and it makes me want to take the sickles I had been holding in my hands only moments earlier and slicing him like I did the dummy. Finn walks over toward the archery station and I chuckle to myself, returning to the scene of the crime as they say and without any conscious thought I find my feet taking me over to where she is firing arrow after arrow at the target and I'm shocked. She may not be the most accurate archer but she can fire rather quickly and I admire her intelligence when choosing her primary weapon: at least she acknowledges that her disability will restrict her in terms of close combat but her use of ranged weaponry wouldn't be affected by her leg.

"Pretty smart." I feel like slapping myself, I shouldn't have come over in the first place; the last time we had any form of conversation she had slapped me in the face before storming out of the room and leaving a scarlet handprint on my swollen cheek. She just turns and glares and there is no need for words; her glare screams at me to piss off and despite me always thinking I had an acute sense of self control I feel my temper flaring. I understand why she is irked, when we first met I was rude but doesn't she understand? I had just been reaped, practically told I was heading towards a certain death so she should be a little lenient; I wasn't in the mood for being sociable. So instead of going along with what she wants and going away I remain where I am standing and watch as she shoots arrow after arrow at the target; every time she sends the arrow flying through the air she lets out a huff of annoyance or a sigh of exasperation. I just keep my expression blank when she turns to face me with her hands placed firmly on her hips, I know I could easily overpower her like Lyle had but I take a step backwards; an angered and potentially hormonal woman is someone you would tend to avoid.

"What do you want?" A simple question, but I have no answer. What do I want? An alliance? It would be beneficial to have an ally with an affinity for ranged combat seeing as I specialise in close combat; but on the other hand she would slow me down and proposing an alliance also poses the risk of becoming attached to the fiery girl from home. She just sighs and folds her arms tightly against her chest, clearly expecting an answer and that is what she gets. Once again without conscious thought my body acts on its own and the words tumble from my lips.

"I don't know." She looks stumped, and I share her confusion. Why on Earth did I come here in the first place? She just stares at me blank faced and I know my expression is just as vague; I silently berate myself for putting myself in this position, now my thoughts are once again going to be consumed with my smarmy district partner. I had just managed to put myself in the right frame of mind to become a serious contender in these games: focussed with my eyes on the prize and now, yet again, I find myself drowning in these unfamiliar waters. These feelings of uncertainty threaten to become my undoing and I can't have that. Fiona's face is screwed up in concentration, as if she is unable to understand something and then her face softens and she stares at me; her bluish-green eyes collide with my own murky brown and she frowns. If I were to ascribe one word to her current facial expression it would be torn.

"I think you had better go, we can talk about this later maybe." She is wringing her hands and turns away from me but I notice she makes no move to reach for the bow; I hear her taking deep breathes and I take that as my cue to leave and even though she can't see me I shrug my shoulders trying to appear casual. As I walk away, I realise that I am more confused than ever; at least before I knew our relationship was based on indifference, potentially contempt but now I have no idea where I stand and I cannot help but think that getting involved in such drama will not end well for anybody. I'm content to head over to the melee combat station, my hands yearning to feel the familiar roughness of the handle of a sickle but I am distracted, although a better summary would be shocked stupid. Lyle is standing surrounded by the careers, laughing along with their jokes which are probably at the expense of everybody else. Fear and anger hit me simultaneously, I am angry that they would accept someone so undisciplined within the career alliance; effectively giving him a chance to live that few days longer but I am scared but not for myself, for Finn. She is so stubborn and adamant that she can do this alone; but she can't and I can't help her, I haven't an idea how I am to withstand this alone never mind if I start worrying about her. Not only will she be contending with her newly christened nemesis, she will be going toe to toe with the whole career alliance and that thought sends a stab of complete dread through my chest.

**Ruby Ashford, District 1.**

Today was rather mundane, I am tired of these training shenanigans. Decimating dummies can only satisfy my insatiable thirst for so long, the consequences have been that I have been have to sate this thirst in other ways and well Platinum seems to have become trapped in a constant state of physical exhaustion thanks to my rapidly growing sex drive; he is snoring quietly as I lay my head against his muscular chest. I trail my fingers delicately along his abdomen, trailing my hand against the waistband of his criminally tight boxers and let me just say that a certain part of his body reacts as expected; A sly grin forms on my face, it is very nice to know that I haven't lost my magic touch: However crude it may sound, that magic touch could be a very useful asset in the arena. I slide from under Platinum's arm and observe myself in the full length mirror; the curve of my full breasts, narrow waist and my long toned legs seem to glow in my current state of 'Post coital bliss'. Another weapon in my exorbiantly large arsenal, this body will not only draw sponsors like bees to honey but also help when 'convincing' or 'distracting' other tributes.

I may have become frustrated with this whole charade of 'training', I have managed to use my time accordingly and in such a way that will best benefit me when the timer hits 0 and the real fun begins: I've highlighted targets, namely the loudmouth red head from 7 who has somehow deluded herself in to thinking that on some levels she is almost my equal; I've managed to secure a strong alliance within the careers even if to me we appear as possibly the most dysfunctional group of careers to ever grace the Hunger Games; honestly being around these pathetic excuses for careers has been the sole downfall to entering the games: Being surrounded by idiots. Another part of my master plan was also ensuring that the attractive yet moronic Kai is leading the freak show. What entertains me the most is that he truly believes I'm unyieldingly loyal and that 'we're in it together' and that I will simply comply with everything says; the boy has some strange tendency to think everyone else accepts his superiority complex because he is able to throw a spear or because he looks like a lost God of the sea with his tanned skin, rippling muscles and Adonis good lucks.

Please, if it were beauty that won these games I'd have been crowned Victor as soon as I volunteered: It is about so much more, being deceptive and cunning for example. I classify Kai as my greatest competitionKai may be as bloodthirsty as myself and seems to be missing the part of his brain regarding emotions but he is about as subtle and cunning as Nicoli allowed free reign in one of the Capitol's shopping malls with unlimited funds; Kai's greatest weakness is the fact that he is nothing but a raging ball of testosterone. He is naive enough to think that these games are only physical well they're not but this suits me just fine because all it means is that I can continue to play him like a violin until it's time to put a knife in his back.

Another positive to be found amongst the negative aspects of the training period, namely immense boredom and having to constantly be around those from the outlying districts, I got a new toy to play with in the games. Pure genius on my behalfm you see:With my natural beauty and enticing demeanour, things have always come easily to me. I ask for things and I seem to get them, my persistence and fine tuned skills regarding 'persuasion' have ensured that since I hit puberty and blossomed into such a beautiful young woman that I have always got what I wanted. No matter what, no exemptions and no discussions but this was as easy as taking candy from a baby; but somehow this little plot of mine has been even easier. Easy as breathing. Lyle Carrington, beautiful and seemingly skilled from what I saw yesterday although I think his strongest weapon is simply brute strength, he lacks training and technical precision; in a way he is like me: We are both beautiful with stupidly large egos but what makes me oh so much better is that I seem to possess a brain. All it took was me to waltz over to him and bat my eyelids and he was under my spell, entranced by my very presence and now he is primed and ready to cater to my every whim; a glamorised puppet whereas I am the stunning and somehow even more glamorous puppet master. And when my toy puppet no longer has a purpose, or I get a little bored whichever comes first, then I will simply cut the strings and watch my puppet fall like the 22 others who must for me to win. I feel a smile tugging at the corner of my lips; As 'Nikki' would say: Oh guys, isn't this going to be so much fun?

_**WARNING: Stupidly long author's note! (Super Sorry ;))**_

_**NEXT CHAPTER: Chatting/Gamemaker Sessions and the reactions to the scores...**_

_**I want you all to REVIEW, whether or not you have a tribute in the games and let me know who you think deserves to be in the bloodbath: Be BRUTAL, if there is a character you feel I do not write well; a character who you don't think is developed enough; a character who is plain annoying? I've written the bloodbath, and it isn't likely it will change but I could be swayed ;) In other words, I am second guessing myself yet again and would love to know who you think should die... but no promises!**_

_**Oh, and are there any little smack downs you'd like to see within the arena? **_

_**Haha, so what did we all think of the 'Super Alliance' of 10, 12 and little Lacey? (Lacey seems pretty good with those traps doesn't she?)... Bala/Greer, what was all that about? **_

_**We see the return of Finn and Lyle: But where has Aezir's compassion come from? Does anyone see any of this ending well...? **_

_**Now, for the sequel I have a few spots left open: D2 Male, D1 Male, D8 Male, D10 Female, D10 Male, D11 Male, D11 Female and the D12 Male...What is it with peoples aversion to creating male tributes? :S**_

_**But here is a little spoiler for some of the tributes for the sequel whom you'll be meeting throughout the story:**_

**Corrine Roarke (17), District 5. (amo-scribere):**_** For 15 years she has lived the life of the 'Good Girl', the sweet and unyieldingly obedient daughter to a set of successful parents. For a long time this was all she knew, it was the role she was eternally cast in; but as of late, things have taken a dramatic turn. The good girl of District 5 has been walking on the wild side of life, and she's been enjoying but it hasn't been without repercussions. Life changing repercussions. How bad will this good girl gone bad go to ensure she escapes the arena with her life intact? And what could these repercussions possibly be?**_

**Artemis 'Luna' Pfeiffer (16) District 2, (Emeraldpaw): **_**Oh, this is a girl with some serious sister issues; known by her friends as Luna, she volunteers to step out from her seemingly perfect older sister's shadow. To show her negligent parents, her fickle ex boyfriend, golden girl sister and the whole population of District 2 that she is without question the most deserving of attention. To let them know she is the strongest, smartest and most fierce of the Pfeiffer sisters. This career has a big point to prove, but will she succeed and become the new Golden Girl of her home district or fail, and die as the forgotten Pfeiffer sister? **_

**Cordin Fuze (18) District 3, (Vividly Cloudy Dreams): **_**District 3 is known for churning out the most intelligent tributes and Cordin doesn't disappoint. He was the boy wonder, a genius prodigy whose IQ is so high it would put the likes of Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking to shame. So smart in fact that he realised that one day the odds may not be in his favour and he could be dragged into the Hunger Games; so intelligent he saw it prudent to prepare himself. By day he excelled in the world of academia, by night he became proficient in combative skills. What happens when a tribute brings brawn and brains to the table, or more aptly: The arena? **_

**Nicholas Niles (15) District 9(nb1998): **_**This young man has two sides to him: On one hand he is the socially and physically awkward young man with a genuinely sweet and approachable demeanour. But sometimes, you can't always be the 'nice one': Something dear Nicholas knows all too well. At the drop of a hat things can change, he can become a cunning boy, exploiting peoples trust: Thieving from his own friends, and lying through his teeth while wearing his trademark smile. Appearances can be deceiving, will Nicholas be able to deceive the fellow tributes long enough to come out on top? Can he lie his way out of a precarious situation? Only time will tell... **_

_**What do you think of these 4, they along with the remainder of tributes WILL feature in this story! Do you think I should post these little character descriptions on my profile?**_

_**Would you like to see some character descriptions every chapter until we have met them all? Oh and if you submitted a tribute, would you like to write the description or should I do it? **_


	40. The Cat That Curiosity Killed

**Readers, I am so sorry I haven't updated as of late: I've had some issues I needed to deal with but give me a 'Hell Yeah' because those issues have been dealt with so I can officially get some writing done ;)... Now, on with the show... I promised Gamemakers which is almost ready**

**Hortensia Crane, Capitol Citizen.**

Thank goodness that over the years I have perfected my poker face; you know the one I'm on about: The wide smile that displays your perfect pearly whites and that look in your eyes that makes it appear as if you care about what the blithering idiot before you is saying when all you'd like to do is quite literally shut them up by kicking them repeatedly in the face with your brand new lilac stilettos. Or is that just me?

"Oh Sia, I look ridiculous. I simply cannot go in front of the cameras and be seen like this. I mean, I am Claudius Templesmith. I am an icon in Panem..." I just keep smiling, what is it with bloody celebrities? Is there some genetic mutation that makes those in the public eye suffer from SDD, which is Severe Diva Disorder in case you were wondering. If it comes out there is then I will pay good money to ensure the Capitol scientists find a way to eradicate the said gene. I note that Claudius is staring me and I know exactly what he wants, as do all the 'Icons of Panem': For people to fawn over them, for someone to stroke their already over inflated ego so I just nod along with his monologue of self pity.

"...I mean, my hair is meant to be fuschia and my eyes a soft orange and then these robes make me look fat; these clashing colours are meant to be starting trend. But I look like some kind of fat mess, once again everyone's eyes will be on Ceasar Flickerman and I'll just be his ugly, fat, smelly, horrible side kick..." Never have truer word been spoken; Claudius would benefit from a quick round of lunchtime liposuction but I can hardly say that, but he has deluded himself into thinking somehow the garnish coral robes are to blame for his startling resemblence to a multi coloured whale. I just shake my head, Caesar is the face and Claudius is the voice but I agree that Caesar is the more famous and rightly so: He is charming, amiable and good for gossip whereas Claudius is nothing but an annoyance and I mean is a commentator really necessary? This is the Hunger Games for Panem's sake, we don't need to be told what is happening seeing as its all pretty self explanatory: Child kills other child. But seeing as we are about to go on NATIONAL television, it seems the task of putting this ridiculously pathetic shambles of a man together. Oh joy.

"Oh Claudius, don't be melodramatic. You are an icon, for goodness sake; put yourself together, in a matter of minutes minutes we are onstage and if you do not arrive there being as fabulous as ever then it is not worth appearing at all I'll tell you that now for free. Now I'll leave you now to compose yourself." Well, that may have come out harsher than expected but sometimes you need to be a bitch and from the devastated expression on his face I seriously hope he fixes himself up because if he embarasses me there will be hell to pay and that is the honest truth.

I storm into my dressing room and slam the door shut; I deserve compensation for dealing with the likes of Claudius and his astounding levels of stupidity, I slide down the door and take a few calming breathes before clambering to my feet: Which I remind you is an impressive feat when wearing skyscraper stilettos. I strut to the mirror, my face devoid of any drastic alterations despite my dyed auburn hair; I paint my lips a vivid scarlett and I'm ready to get this show on the road so I can go home and indulge in a large glass of vodka, or five.

"Mrs Crane, they're ready for you now.." I look up to see one of Claudius' little entourage who is a perfect example of my reluctance to have cosmetic surgery: orange skin, silver hair and breasts that resemble small mountains. Classless and altogether rather revolting in my honest opinion but that doesn't count now so I just follow the plastic spastic.

"And here is our special guest, Mrs Hortensia Crane, wife to our current Head Gamemaker but famous in her own right as the greatest journalist to ever grace the Capitol. The woman who seems to know everything here to give us the scoop on this years Hunger Games tributes." I walk out to the deafening applause, blowing kisses to the audience and placing my hand daintily against my chest to show how much their affection means to me or some rubbish like that. By the time I've made my way over to Claudius, the human whale has somehow got to his feet and we exchange the customary air kisses and I'm seated in some red velvet chair.

"Oh, Claudius it is a pleasure to be here again with you." Another thing I need to thank God or whatever deity may exist for: The sacred ability to lie through my teeth, convincingly. Claudius simpers like a teenage girl and the one thought that pops into my head is that this man before me is camper than a row of tents, as well as being as wide as a row of tents. I can't help the giggle but the audience roar, Claudius silences them with a gesture before turning to me and so the inquisition begins.

"Now Sia, with Seneca becoming the Head Gamemaker we're all sure you know what's in store for the tributes. Spill" Oh the rapport is so amazing, mind the poorly concealed sarcasm. Do I know that President Snow has ordered Seneca to create an arena that is specifically designed to mentally torture the tributes across two terrains to send a message that any inkling of rebellion will not be accepted? Yes, but not because Seneca told me but because nothing gets by me, call it an advantage of being a major gossip and a nosey bitch. But I'm also rather fond of my life so I'm not going to run my mouth, I take a moment to look into space inquisitively before replying.

"Not exactly, I know that us and the tributes are in for some big surprises. Seneca has been working hard to make sure these games are going to be the best yet and I have complete faith in him. So as for the arena it seems like we are all going to have to wait and see." I give a girly giggle for appearances sake and twirl my hair around my finger while Claudius is pulling shocked faces at the audience and trying to vamp things up: Seriously Claudius should stick with commentary and leave public relations to the likes of myself and Flickerman. I mean he seriously looks like a constipated clown wearing that ridiculous make up and that ludicrous expression. Seneca on the other hand, my cowardly husband, would not have been working hard at all: He'd be delegating work to that sadistic cow Crimson Hardwick while he sits around shitting a brick that by the end of the year he doesn't join the list of Head Gamemakers who retire under mysterious circumstances and are never seen again. You don't need to be a genius to figure that one out.

"Oooo... Everyone is so excited now, today is the day when the tributes will perform for the Gamemakers and be rated between 0 and 12." He gestures to a screen, where all 24 tributes appear gathered in a waiting area to perform like dancing monkeys: Poor bastards, 23 of those children are going to die. I mean I don't find that entertaining, I'd rather watch strippers while gossiping about who is sleeping with who but alas this is Panem. I continue to stare at the screen until Claudius snaps his fingers in front of my face. Cheeky bastard, mind the foul language, but if this weren't being screened live all across Panem I would've broken his fingers and watched him cry like the little sissy boy he is but instead I take option D. More commonly know as option ditz. I shake my head and simper like an estrogen fueled train wreck.

" Ah, Sia we thought we'd lost you there for a moment. I was saying we're running out of time, so if you can give us a little insight into a few tributes that'd be great." He looks a little scared and desperate he should be. For his earlier cheek I might remain silent; or tell everyone about his nights of morphling fueled sex with young men who are barely legal. Oh that would be hilarious, but I remember my favour to my beloved Seneca and I am nothing but the dutiful wife am I? Once again I apologise for the unadulterated sarcasm.

"Well, one little tidbit I've heard is that we have some little rivalries forming which will make for some delectable drama." Claudius is hanging on my every word like a starving dog on a bone, maybe I'll buy him some dignity for his birthday. He leans in and hey what kind of girl doesn't love attention? So I lean towards him, playing up to the audience while trying to not inhale his toxic aftershave.

" From what I've gathered the male tribute from 8 and the girl from 9 have been butting heads in a way which promises a nice showdown when the timer hits 0 but Cladius, that is all I can tell you for now but keep an eye on my blog for some more juicy gossip about this years tributes." There is a collective gasp and the fat ass commentator looks as if he has been told Christmas has been cancelled, aww too bad. Claudius regains composure.

"Coming up next is Ordaina Ilbert, the new biggest singing sensation here in the Capitol." And that folks is my cue to leave, I jump to my feet and practically sprint towards my dressing room. Finally, its over and I can hear the siren call of my vodka but no: Hortensia Crane wasn't blessed with a simple life; she was the cat that curiosity would kill or so that was what the telegram said anyway. I love my gossip but I swear it puts me up shit creek without a paddle far too many times for my liking.

_The Cat That Curiosity Killed,_

_Someone once said all great plans come from that one spark, will you be one of those people that help that spark grow? Or are you content to sit in the eternal winter?_

_I will make contact soon,_

_The Perfumed Thorn._

How mysterious? My sarcasm is on top form today and how cliche? Really why bother with nicknames when I've known about Rosie's little plans of rebellion since we were teenage girls, best friends gossiping in our bedrooms. I'm shocked it's actually happening, but Rosie's tenacity was always admirable and I was cursed with an insatiable curiosity which is something that she knows all too well. So with one hell of an exasperated sigh I pull a lighter from my bag and set the note alight before whipping out my mobile and punching in the numbers I've punched in oh so many times before. It continues to ring and then goes to answerphone, will she ever learn to answer that God forsaken phone of hers? Well then I'll be leaving a voicemail it seems:

"Sweetie Darling? It's been too long and I can't wait to hear what you've been upto. We'll have to have cocktails at my place, we can talk about you and Archie; tell Blossom I said hello and her Auntie Sisi will come see her soon."

I hang up and shake my head happy with the vagueness of the response, I know exactly why she is talking to her bastard sperm donor: The DiMae chip, Rosalinde's crazy hag of a grandmother: Scarlett Snow, the tyrant that she had it removed from the leg of a tribute in the very first Hunger Games seeing as the chip. I've heard from an extremely reliable resource that both the tribute and her partner were evacuated to District 13 which supposedly still exists; so it seems Rosa must of found something out. Hence our upcoming chat over cocktails at my apartment which I thoroughly de-bugged; one of the many advantages of being a journalist/Gossip extraodinairre.

What have I gotten myself into? I, Hortensia Crane nee, and soon again will be, Marchbanks, will be the cat that curiosity killed. Oh, Rosalinde Scarlett Snow how I curse the day I met you.

**HAHA! Despite it not being what I said I hoped you liked it. So, Hortensia? What do we think? She will be a regular methinks...**

**It is a short and sweet chapter that just popped into my head:D**

**REVIEW! And yes, I'm almost done with the Gamemakers so it should be up soon... Any predictions of scores?**

**New tributes: (Remember to give opinions) **

**Lillian 'Angel' Porter (13) District 9 (Vividly Cloudy Dreams): **_**Nobody can deny that Lily is an Angel; selfless and compassionate. Despite the immense adversity she and her family face; she works her hardest to help whoever she can, however she can: Volunteering at centres to make and serve food to those poorer than even her, trying to learn as much about medicine as possible to try and ease the pain and suffering she sees around her. She wants people to like her but that does not mean she will not fight for something she believes in: She despises bullies and when incensed she has quite a mean and vindictive streak. Being raised around healers, she has learnt how to keep a secret; and be deceiving when she deems necessary. A little Angel, but when she steps into the arena will she become an avenging angel?**_

**Daria 'Dare' Hemlock (18) District 7 (TaraxXx): **_**Daria is a cruel girl, hardened to the world. She has lived a life of abuse without a strong female role model, but rather than becoming empathetic and a 'better' person: She has become a cold and calculating young woman; stubborn and at times downright cruel. Dare has exceptionally high expectations of herself and will do whatever she feels necessary to achieve these expectations; strong and cruel, she sees the games as an opportunity to prove her strength: And she will kill without a second thought. Bitter and resentful, she is like a ticking time bomb with so many suppressed emotions: People had better watch out when this girl explodes, it won't be pretty and people will more than likely get hurt. But beneath this icy exterior is a girl like any other, scared and angry; hiding many insecurities. How will she fare if her cruelty and bitter demeanour aren't enough to take down the competition?**_

**Tealana Sawyer (17) District 1 (IzzyRoxUrSox14): **_**She is a spoilt young lady,and as an only child she really is Daddy's Princess. She is a hardened career, lethal and devoted to entering and eventually winning the Hunger Games. She has an incessant need to be liked, she needs to impress people; her lack of self worth is what makes her need to win these games. To achieve that sense of satisfaction, to know she is loved and respected even though her friends and family adore her. She is an average teenager, insecure and paranoid what people think about her despite her tendency to hide behind a facade of the 'happy go lucky' girl. How will this insecure girl cope when others are trying to tear her down? Will her paranoia get the better of her, or will she win and find that sense of achievement and satisfaction she craves? Will she ever go back to being Daddy's Little Girl?**_

**Arlie Chapelle (15) District 3 (lifeisapicturetakeitwell): **_**Arlie, the girl trapped in her own world: Trapped in the asylum of District 3 and totally oblivious to the Hunger Games. She may be artistic and imaginative but that doesn't change the fact this girl is severely schizophrenic; Unstable and downright unpredictable: What will happen when the girl with the silvery blue eyes enters the arena alongside some of her 'friends'?**_


	41. All The Worlds A Stage PART 1

**Well, I'm back :) My oh so tempremental laptop has decided to be a complete doofus and die (taking 4,000 words with it may I add) but nothing stops me when I am in a writing mood! So here we go, the Gamemaker sessions! It took so long to write, so I'll post the reactions tomorrow!**

**I do focus on certain tributes...Hope you don't mind too much! And it may be tedious but I do think it was fun to write; the pace is a bit slow but it promises to speed up soon.**

**Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker.**

Nicoli Spinoza trailed into the room as if being sent to death, a quivering wreck if I've ever seen one and seeing as I've hardly slept due to the fact that if I mess one minute thing then I am guarenteed death, I can most definitely identify such a thing; so yes I empathise with the boy. Seeing as he hails from an aptly named 'Career' district, I was concerned by his apparent nervousness but that faded rather quickly once he had picked up a sword. What followed was a sublime demonstration of swordply, beheaded dummies and disarmed Peacekeepers; I nod approvingly as he performs a series of gymnatic manoeuvres before coming to stand before us with an apprehensive expression, still appearing like a rabbit in headlights despite his exemplary display.

"You may leave, thank you." I see his shoulders sag in relief as he almost sprints from the room, I smile at his reaction: It is not very often you see someone from a Career district, someone so able to succeed in the Hunger Games suffer such 'pre-game jitters' but I admit it is rather refreshing and dare I say it, endearing. I hear some chuckling and the entourage behind me erupts into hushed whispers, despite the superiority of the Capitol across Panem; I sometimes wonder how at times we can appear as uncivilsed as animals, where is our Capitolite decorum? Gossiping like old hags, but I hear a few of the whispered remearks: "Awww, he is just adorable" "What a siss, suffering from stage fright" "Look at those dimples, I may get a pair".

I'm about to admonish them, my role as Head Gamemaker gives me the responisiblity of managing this morons and ensuring thet remain focussed, a feat just as difficult as designing an arena which meets our Presidents incredibly high standards at times. But before I can open my mouth to scold them, Crinsom Hardwick herself joins the ruckus and renders the other Gamemakers completely silent; I am torn between my admiration of the woman and her ability to silence a room with something as small as raising her eyebrow and the irrational desire to applaude her for managing to silence our foolish colleagues.

"May I remind you all, this is to rate the potential of tributes not to discuss how sweet they appear to be or whether or not they suffer from stage fright. I encourage you all to remember to maintain some degree of professionalism and to only talk about the tributes potential and whatever score you seem fit for the display of their skills." I smirk as a number of newly employed Gamemakers actually cower in their seats at her rebuttal whereas the more 'seasoned' of us simply look ahead in an attempt to avoid her tempestuous wrath; the overall effect is one of focus which is a blessing as the second tribute has just entered.

As a Gamemaker you eventually become familiar with certain traits you can associate with tributes from certain districts, for example: District 1 always gives you the pretty girls, the 'Daddy's Little Princess''; altogether lethal but so air headed it physically hurts but something about this Ruby girl is different, maybe it is the way she struts into the room like a Capitol supermodel or the way she is smiling coyly and occaisonally winking at the assembled Gamemaker's: The way she oozes confidence and the way pure sensuality seems to escape from every pore tells me that this tribute is not just a pretty face.

She is intelligent, I can smell the phermones as a large majority of my male colleagues seem to drown in the tangiable lust that floats around them like a bad smell; she appears to have decided against 'normal' training attire, opting to wear a black skirt that clings to her womanly hips and shows how long her legs are and a training bra, displaying her washboard abs, narrow waist and full breasts. Although this gives the impression of her being promiscuous, it also ensures that everyone has eyes for only her; well the males anyway. I see her wearing a suggestive smirk as she stands before us, hip cocked with her hand resting on it delicately; it is only when I hear Crimson's sharp voice ring out across the eerily silent training centre that I have been ogling the specimen before me like my male peers.

"You may begin" Ruby nods her head before gesturing a Peacekeeper over, every sultry emotion exaggearated and her plump lower caught between her teeth; the Peacekeeper stumbles over his eyes alight like the cat got the cream until Ruby's whole demeanour changes: Gone is the seductive temptress, replaced by a bloodthirsty harpy who looks as though she was summoned from the darkest depths of Hell with her narrowed eyes and her lips set in a thin line. He freezes and tries to back away but Ruby strikes like a cobra, before the man in white can react the harpy cartwheels through the air and lands a kick squarely in his chest. The peacekeeper is sent sprawling across the floor, a strangled cry escapes his lips as he hits the melee weaponry rack with a resounding crash and Ruby laughs as he struggles to stand. Beneath the beauty lies a callous, cold blooded murderess to be.

The remainder of her time consists of Ruby tormenting the Peacekeeper: beating him to his knees and pressing the blade against his throat and makes him beg for safety before binding his wrists to his ankles and rendering him completely defenceless, dragging a leather whip across the floor as the man is bound and proceeding to whip him until his white uniform is tainted with streaks of vibrant crimson. Every crack of the whip is accompanied by Ruby's mirthless laughter. Savage and cold, before our very eyes this tribute has reduced this man to a pathetic being begging for mercy. I sit entranced by this demonstration of cruelty and violence, time could have frozen until I hear Crimson.

"Leave" No formalities, Crimson has issued a simple imperative and this tribute seems to realise that the orders of the fearsome Gamemaker are to be obeyed and without question. But before leaving the tribute bows lowly, allowing us all to ogle her cleavage before strutting from the room without a hair out of place and her hips swaying rhythmically. Once she is gone, everyone remains silent as they are still in shock at what just happened. Eventually the Peacekeeper is escorted to the medical centre and we are addressed by Crimson in her typical, no nonsense manner.

"Now that you've all managed to place your eyes back in the sockets, I suggest that we get back to our jobs and discuss the tributes." Her statement is met with shouts from our fellow Gamemakers: "A 12, best display I've seen in my 20 years." "Never seen someone so lethal, at least an 11." and things along those lines. I can see Crimson's anger boiling to the surface as everyone else seems content to continue singing the praises of the temptress with the mahogany tresses. I'm tempted to cover my ears as I note that Crimson is seconds away from exploding.

"Silence, you dare call yourselves proffessionals. From now on, we will not be discussing tributes; you will make notes which will be passed onto Seneca to finalise the scores." Silence reigns and I smirk at Crimson who as of right now seems to be the epitome of exasperation. Let us hope that no one crosses her again for there will be dire consequences.

**Crimson Hardwick, Gamemaker.**

Fools. Incompetant Fools. I can think of no words to describe the atrocities that I have to work alongside; despite me telling them moments ago to wise up and remember their professionalism they are now ordering wine and food. Does nobody possess a work ethic nowadays? But that is beside the point, in a way this is a blessing: Maybe these 'Gamemakers', and I use this term loosely, will drink themselves into oblivion and allow the likes of myself to do my job and rate the tributes potential. I snatch my notepad as Claude Dew walks in, his posture rigid and his jaw set in what I guess to be determination; as a District 2 tribute I have high expectations of such a tribute.

"You may begin." I feel like clapping that Seneca is still managing to focus on the tributes as he pours glass after glass of cotes du rhone; the 6' blonde instantly grasps a mace from the rack and continues to pound dummies with impressive force, he then moves onto hand to hand combat where he easily overpowers his numerous adversaries. Performing a series of grapples, he pins one to the ground and performs a hold on his wrist until the Peacekeeper slaps against the floor in submission; unlike his predecessor in the session he releases his hold instantly before jumping to his feet and running to grab a sword. He continues to perform a series of techniques that would cause a spectrum of pain: from a simple graze, to a slash that would cause unbearable pain, it is when he is dismissed after 15 minutes that I realise something. Reluctance: Technically Mr. Dew met my expectations of a District 2 tribute, showing a range of maiming techniques flawlessly but his mentality does not correspond with his physical performance. There is no malicious glint in his eye, no desire to cause pain; he is simply going through the motions without any true motivation. Let us hope that he somehow finds the motivation for he will fall quickly, Career status be damned. The Hunger Games are not a place for hesitance, hesitate once and you'll never be able to hesitate again.

His district partner is a different story, she does not hesitate in fact as soon as she enters the room she negelcts to acknowledge our existance; she throw knives with tremendous accuracy over great distances and speed. There is no hesitance as seen in her district partner, yet no brutality either; her demeanour exudes a lassez faire approach to proceedings; casually decimating dummies as though it is an everyday occurance but seeing as she is from District 2 it most probably is. In all honesty I am intrigued by the girl with the dirty blonde hair and vibrant green eyes, will she be able to be so laid back when she is attacking real tributes and not dummies? Either way I am curious as to how she will react in the arena. When dismissed she nods her head slightly toward us before walking from the room as casually as she had drifted in.

Afterwards comes the turn of District 3, you can basically hear the disinterest of my colleagues, see their attention drift away to Panem knows where. I could roll my eyes at their flippance, never underestimate a tribute solely because they don't come from a district which celebrates the games as some way of earning glory but alas you can only lead a horse to water. The meek boy who resembles a rat scurries into the room, and what follows is barely worth noticing; he sets some simple snares, although he has made minor adjustments so that it could incapacitate numerous victims: Smart but not mind blowing. The oddest thing was that he somehow managed to light a fire without a flint or matches, which is rather impressive but rather than capitalising on it he simply stares into the depths of the flames which such intensity as if waiting for it to answer some unasked question. When dismissed he gives a respectful 'Thank You' and shuffles from the room.

Greer Ballentine, a scientific prodigy according to my extensive research, hurries into the room and instantly starts gathering random pieces of equipment. Ah, an inventor in our midsts; this could most certainly be interesting. Her tongue sticks out as she entwines seemingly pointless pieces of metal, her concentration apparent; she fiddles for a while longer as she takes a rope and dagger and affixes them to the assortment of components she has just constructed. She stands and heads toward the shooting range, what she holds in her arms resembles a hybrid of a crossbow and a boomerang if that is even possible; she takes aim and pulls a makeshift trigger. The dagger is fired from the contraption toward a dummy at an impressive speed, her understanding of physics is astounding, but rather than imbedding itself in the target; Greer flicks her wrist and pulls something. The consequence: The dagger slashes across the torso of the dummy, creating a wound which would be fatal, before returning to Greer's little impression. I am almost tempted to applaude, she is apparently resourceful which is an incredibly admirable trait. She checks the time, pulling a battered pocket watch from her pocket, ascertaining she has enough time remaining she hurries over to the chemical station. She mixes various isotopes and chemical compounds, stirring vigorously as she poistions the vials exactly where they were before and I note that all labels are facing one direction. A minute or so later, she moves toward us and clears her throat nervously to gain our attention.

"This chemical compound although relatively harmless in a metal bowl is in fact insanely dangerous. Not only is it acidic and corrosive to all living organisms due to the reactions it can cause when exposed to kerotin and the unique structure of the erectile peni muscle; it is also poisonous as it would react in the blood stream, basically recreating the effects of septasemia; more commonly known as blood poisoning." I'll admit it, I'm curious but within these four walls if you want to score high we need definite proof. I smirk, well I know how we can get such proof; thank Panem for modern science.

"The dummies here in the training centre are covered in a pseudo skin developed in Capitol labs; you'll find they react exactly how human skin would when exposed to your concoction." She nods her understanding, before heading over to the nearest dummy and pouring her mixture over it's head. The effects are instantaneous, the surface of the dummy seem to convulse and bubble as though burnt and soon enough the limbs seem to fall away until the once humanoid dummy resembles nothing more than a pile of disfigured rubble. I hear cries of shock from my colleagues and I struggle to suppress my smirk: I've told them all time and time again not to underestimate those who don't attend training centres, now they know is dismissed, once she has exited the room my colleagues try to engage me in conversation, I simply shut them down with my trademark glare; unlike some, I intend to do my job. Everyone begins to pay attention again, not because of Ballentine's incredible feat but because District 4 is a 'Career' district.

The male, Kai, walks into the room with his head held high and his arrogance; well, it is simply laughable. How can he claim superiority when he is playing in our games? He slides his tank top off, revealing his increible physique and I must admit, his rippling muscles are attractive but he is nothing but a district rat: He could never be compatible with myself for that sole reason. As expected, he is phenomenally gifted in combative arts but we had already ascertained that from watching him throughout the training period; his accuracy with spears is superior to any I have seen since I obtained a position as Gamemaker and his raw strength is astounding; the way he lifts such heavy weights with ease is well, astounding. He runs a few lengths of the room, and I thought he would be slow due to his thick muscles but no he appears to be as fast as he is strong. Technically, he is perfect. Too good to believe, he has weaknesses though; we all do. What highlights him as a serious contender is not his strength or his speed, it is the vicious way he lashes at his training partners; the maleovalent glint in his eye as he overpowers an opponent. Emotionless and none responsive to the pain of others; a boy with a black heart, one to watch out for. When it is his time to leave he smiles up at us smugly, as though he is the one that owns the place. Arrogant fool, such high self esteem yet so stupid. However much of a contender he may be; he needs to remember it is I who holds his life in my hands, he is nothing but a pawn in my games.

Bala Eaglehawk, what can I say. Most 13 year old tributes are sitting ducks in these games, defenceless against the supreme brutality of the careers and easily overpowered in general by older tributes; to my fellow Gamemakers her session would fly under the radar but I'm not like my fellow Gamemakers. I don't ignore a tribute on the basis that their skills aren't exemplary with a weapon. Bala proved herself to be a jack of all trades and her versatility will help her with whatever crosses her path in the arena and I will make sure Seneca is aware of this when I give him my feedback. I have no doubt that she is one of Mags' pups, who for some reason always seem to do well in the arena; Magdalena Marin is an exceptional mentor despite her age and I'm marking this young blonde before me as a dark horse in these games. Bala proved herself to be proficient albeit not amazing in every aspect: Camouflage, archery, melee knife combat, swimming, climbing, knot tying, plant identification and basically every other aspect we have to offer. Under Mags' careful instruction this tribute has utilized the time dedicated to training successfully and I commend her for it, and I most certainly think it will show in her training score.

Despite my dedication to my job, even I find it rather monotonous; although some tributes surprise us with their repertoire of skills it can become tedious so to me it is no surprise that the attention of my colleagues has begun to wane: I glance around, find one woman painting her nails and an older Gamemaker fast asleep in his plush velvet armchair. I just shake my head, I note some others are intoxicated and the young man who irked me the other day is trying to string a sentence together but is slurring his speech so it comes out as a garbled mess. I try to catch Seneca's eye but he is chatting with those next to him, but I spot the faint pink blush across his face, a tell tale sign of his drinking. Disgraces, every single one of them; I'm just thankful that I'm here to make extensive notes so that each tribute is given an accurate score. I rub my temples and turn to watch as the male tribute from District 5 walks into the room, he's never caught my eye per say seeing as he seems to follow his useless district partner around; basically guarenteeing his death.

So I am more than a little shocked at what he shows us, he drags a dummy to the centre of the room and I make note of his strength seeing as those humanoid devices aren't necessarily light; he then gives us a lesson in short regarding the anotomy, gesturing where major arteries are positioned that if perferated would ensure the victim of the wound would die in minutes from blood loss. The whole 'lecture' is made more chilling when delivered in his gentle baritone, he is describing the process in what one would call an impeccable bedside manner; the way he pierces the dummy with the knife, every action so precise and clinical. It makes me think that maybe this healer could be a cold and efficient killer when placed in the arena and told to kill or be killed. Afterwards he heads toward the plant identification and commentates as he creates poultices and cures for a range of maladies you could obtain within the arena: A way to congeal blood if you have a wound, a herbal anaesthetic if any minor surgeries need to be performed and a simple sleeping drug which renders people unconscious for hours. I raise my eyebrows, I'd been proven wrong: Despite his affiliation with his district partner, he personally is not as useless as I once thought. In fact, with his clinical approach this seemingly harmless young man could be more dangerous than we could have ever anticipated.

As he leaves I can't help but sigh, his session was rather interesting but now I have to endure a whole 15 unbearable minutes of his pathetic district partner; I am guessing that all she'll do is cry a lot and moan about how weak she is. If I could bring myself to pity her I would, but I just find her lack of dignity repulsive. 23 of these tributes face certain death but how many of the others do you see reduced to a snivelling wreck? None, and according to her profile she is 17 years of age; practically a grown woman and yet she is more cowardly than even the 12 year olds. As predicted she shuffles into the room with her shoulder hunched and gaze fixed firmly on the ground; maybe we can dismiss her now and spare ourselves 15 minutes of witnessing her complete incompetence. She stands there like that for 3 whole minutes and I'm about to dismiss her when she stands up straight, shoulder width apart and her shoulders held back; she stares up at us all, eyes alight with a firey determination and head held high. However uncouth it may sound, I almost collapse from my chair in shock; I hear the shocked whispers behind me but my eyes are trained on the girl.

"I present to you my weapon, I've had you all thinking I was some incompetent idiot since being reaped; So, I have a proposition for you. Give me a low score, a 3 or 4 should suffice, so I can keep my little charade going and I will make these games... Interesting to say the least." I'm speechless, we all are. On one hand, I am outraged at both myself and her, myself for falling for this facade when she is obviously anything but the 'Cry Baby' I had decreed her; she has truly thrown a spanner into the works. I'm angry at her audacity, how dare she make a proposition. What is there to prevent us from exposing her facade? Nothing, but admitting she had us all fooled. This sobering thoughtis what enables me to compose myself and address the admittedly incredible actress from District 5.

"First of all why should we play along with your little game, why not simply expose you for a fraud and watch what happens. I think you misunderstand, the ball is and always will be in the corner of the Capitol and its Gamemakers; you will not dictate to us." She smiles up at me, a smile I've seen before: A smile that has graced my own refined features on more than one occaison and I find myself smiling along. She contemplates what I've said before walking even closer to the podium we sit upon.

"Because last years games were iconic, you need to match up to it. You'll get the violence, the betrayal but what you need is drama to make sure these games are unforgettable. And let me ask you: What could be more dramatic than the apparently pathetic girl turning out to be a cold hearted bitch of a killer who'd stab her ally in the back to make sure she got home?" She really is like me, the negotiation; the way she makes it reflect well on the authority. This girl is dangerous, because she has just earned my respect which truly is one of the most sought after things here in the Capitol. But one last obstacle faces the girl before she proves herself worthy of my respect.

"Cold hearted killer? Pray tell how you hope to overpower the other tributes?" The smirk on her face lets me know that she expected such a response. She responds exactly as I would have, show rather than tell, she plucks a machete from the weaponry rack then runs while calling for the Peacekeepers to 'get her' and then she is gone. Invisible, lost amongst the stations and then I hear it a cry; the girl has jumped from the climbing rack onto the back of a peacekeeper and presses the blade against his neck. Well, she truly is an amazing actress; I quietly applaude.

"You have done well, we will consider your proposition. You may leave now." She nods her head, throws the machete at a dummy where it imbeds itself in the stomach and turns to leave, she is almost at the door before she turns around; eyes lit with mirth and a cocky smirk on her curtseys, illiciting laughs from some and other like me decide to smile. A girl with a plan, a girl like me; as she leaves her melodic voice drifts back into the room.

"I forgot my manners, thank you." And Miss Autumn Thorn, may the odds be ever in your favour.

**Ok, REVIEW!**

**I know its not all there but I'm uploading the rest/reactions tomorrow or the day after to make it easier to digest and such ;) Errrmmm... any ideas of scores?**

**Anyone shocked you in there?**

**I 'll put new tributes for my sequel in the next chapter... this is, in case you haven't noticed, an incredibly quickly written authors note!**


	42. All The Worlds A Stage PART 2

**Alas, I am back yet again... with the conclusion of the Gamemakers sessions and the reactions...**

**And yes, it is LawrenceLee93; I just decided to use Rosa's code name as my pen name cause it sounds cool...;)**

**Some NEWS: I am also going to be taking part in a 24 authors/24 tributes collaboration... but we need more writers, so if you fancy it PM me and I'll try and point you in the right direction! THIS STORY IS STILL MY PRIORITY, IT WILL NOT BE NEGLECTED WHATSOEVER!**

**Anyways as they say: The show must go on... Even if it is tedious seeing what people do, I personally appreciate Crimson's little insights but don't worry after this we'll be back to fast paced drama; after this we have the interviews and boom: Last Night, Launch, potntially a countdown and then BLOODBATH! **

**Crimson Hardwick, Gamemaker.**

After the complete shock of Miss Thorn revealing her plot, although not original yet still effective, I am intrigued by the tributes: In fact I am yearning to see how they react once the arena begins to take its vicious toll out upon them, but as a great philosopher once said: Patience is a virtue and I am almost certain that my patience will be rewarded in the form of the greatest Hunger Games that Panem has ever known. But however surprised my colleagues may have been in regards to Miss Thorn's extensive deception, they have returned to their wine and food like bees to honey; I don't even try and rebuke them, for you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.

I, as the consumate proffessional, sit up straighter in my seat; I do understand how their attention drifts so freely: As a member of the Capitol we are acclimatised with something I can only describe as 'spectacle' we like to see thing big, bold and beautiful. Or more accurately, crazed displays of sadism: Exhibit A, Ruby Ashford. Outlying districts rarely offer such displays, at best they are proficient with a weapon and are able to identify poisonous plants; but the outlying districts have offered me more than a few surprises today and I don't know what to expect other than the fact that me and my fellow Gamemakers have been giving multi faceted tributes to play in our playground.

On that thought, Iian Trescott, the male offering from District 6 skulks into the room. He bears a certain presence standing at 6' but throughout the whole time allocated for training he has quite effectively 'flown beneath the radar' but I'm not quick to assume this means he is harmless; I overlooked Autumn and it turned out she was as devious as I. I will not be so quick to make assumptions of the tributes in future, so Mr. Trescott show us what you can do. The following display is mediocre at best, but I am still reserving judgement on the boy. On more than one occaison, tributes tend to 'hold back' on their skills in some vain attempt to surprise the competition and I strongly suspect that this boy is one of those tributes. He identifies edible plant, constructs a satisfactory hammock and then displays a variety of ways to use a sword; stabbing, slashing, throwing and so on.

Rather rudimentary yet necessary skills but something about this enigmatic figure strikes me, his general stoicism and detached demeanour just makes me think he may be hiding something up his sleeve; only time will tell. Upon dismissal he stalks from the room, projecting the same casual air of apathy as when he entered; I'm most sure that I can ensure he'll have a hard time maintaining this stoicism as soon as he steps into my territory. But as I said before, this boy gave an average performance and as consequence to this he will receive an average score;or if I'm feeling especially bitter, a poorer than average score.

Then ambles in his tiny district partner, the first thing I notice is that she is wearing a solemn expression. Please let there not be tears, but she looks up at the podium where we sit and her eyes: They are not the eyes of a 13 year old girl, these are the eyes of a wise woman and I am not ashamed to admit I am a little unsettled. But then I'm no longer disturbed, I am fuming: Her eyes fill with pity. Pity? And why would she be pitying the likes of me, she is the one living in poverty back in a nondescript district of Panem; she is the one who can die at our convenience, yet her gaze doesn't falter. Her warm brown eyes are filled with sadness and pity, I'm seriously considering the girl may be mentally fragile until she looks to the ground.

"It is said that all man are made in God's image; that we all bear the capacity for love and compassion. We are all human and must respect God, accept him as our Lord and his son Jesus Christ as our saviour." I am moments away from standing, what is the meaning of this religious drivel? Seriously, how dare this child speak to her superiors in such a patronising manner; but before I can admonish her she heads towards the camouflage station; she takes a tube of red paint and empties it onto her index finger. I admit, despite her totally delusions spiel regarding the 'Lord' and her blatant rudeness I am curious as to what she's about to do. She paints on her forehead a cross, and I can feel my eyes rolling without conscious thought; It seems as though we are about to endure more deranged ramblings. Nobody else is giving this pathetic girl a second glance, and I myself am more tempted to get myself a small glass of merlot I see in the corner of my eye. But then this little cretin decides to vandalise the floor of the training centre; a large red triangle now blights the once pristine, white floor. Well, she has most certainly gained everyone's attention now: The facical expressions I see range from shock, to confusion and I'm sure mirror my own aghast expression.

"The father, the son and the holy spirit. Our Lord, he is the only one whom will ever judge me; your scores need not matter. For when I enter our Lord's embrace he will see my utter devotion, my faith and my humility. But I'm here to tell you all to repent, you cast yourselves in the role of Gods; you believe it is you who decides who lives and who dies. This is blasphemy, your cruelty and bloodlust repulse our Lord and for you, there are no open arms waiting steadfastly at the pearly gates of heaven. But all is not yet lost, your true sight has been veiled by greed, desensitisation to violence. Repent, ask for forgiveness and the Lord is waiting." Silence, pure silence. Until the laughter rings out throughout the room, a symphony that decrees this girl insane. This religious nonsense is hilarious, if we were giving scores for comedic value this Dariela girl would most likely receive one of the three 12's ever given in Hunger Games history.

How deluded can she be? There is no God, no man with a beard sitting on a cloud. For Panem's sake, the Capitol as an institution is the God here: We decree something and it happens, we choose who lives and we choose who dies; it is we that are all powerful, endless resources waiting to be exploited for our slightest whims. A smile carves its way onto my face, her warm brown eyes bore into us; ignoring our almost hysterical laughter, as though the weight of her stare could somehow make us start believing in this God mumbo jumbo and spiel those crazed beliefs. Our chorus of chuckles continues until she departs the room with her head held high, totally deranged and not disheartened in the least that we all deemed her a complete laughing stock. And relating to scores she has done absolutely nothing to earn a score, unless it is possible to kill someone through laughter of course.

Proceedings are held up then as avoxes come to clean the mess that little brat made, lets see if her Lord can help her in the arena. Lets see if anyone is compassionate when fighting for their life? I estimate she'll perish during the bloodbath, stabbed through the gut while trying to deliver another unecessary sermon about 'agape' or repenting. Oh I do hope she sticks around though, I'd love to witness her steady decline into insanity; Praying to a God that quite obviously doesn't exist. I mean be logical, if their really was some omniscient force out there why would it allow for the Hunger Games to exist? If human life is so precious, why does God allow the Capitol to take 23 lives every year with the sole purpose of entertainment. After 15 minutes, we're ready to start again.

I watch as the male of 7 walks in smiling broadly, he waves up at us; no sarcasm, just a general greeting. Respect, that is what we deserve; not the offering of repentence. He works methodically, he ties some knots; some of which are rather complex in their nature and have an array of purposes. He then moves to the weights and lifts an impressive amount, the same amount as Kai from 4 in fact, although it is evident that this boy doesn't find the task as easy if the slight tremor in his arms is anything to go by. He shows us his speed and dexterity by completeing the obstacle course in a respectable time. The grand finale is as expected, like most District 7 tributes he is more than proficient with an axe; slicing through dummies like a hot knife through butter, his strength combined with his skill with an axe would make him a formidable opponent in the realm of close combat. He strides confidently over to the target range before launching the axe through the air, it crashes into the chest of a dummy over 12 metres away; so this boy is not a one trick pony. He is one I'll be monitoring, but as with most tributes he radiates a certain gentleness that could work against him but something tells me this boy is fighting for something however much he seems to smile, and tributes are ten times more dangerous if they are fighting for a reason to go home unlike most of the Careers who are solely here for 'District Pride' or some other nonsense like that. When dismissed he gives a short bow and another wave before walking away in the same slow, measured pace.

Then I smile, I know who's coming next: Seraphine Connoly, a firecracker; a loose canon and someone I can count on to give us the show we were all expecting, she did promise us an 'exciting' show upon her volunteering did she not? She storms into the room, but there is no smile given like her district partner; not that I expected it anyway. During the training period, she never struck me as a 'people person' she raises her eyebrow and taps her foot as she stands before us. Upon being told to begin she huffs before sprinting over to the axe station and picking up an axe with a serrated edge; then she does what she does best, unleashes whatever pent up anger she has out on the dummy. Although her hits aren't as clean as Asher's they come quicker and with such venom that I wouldn't be surprised if the inanimate dummy sprung a pair of legs and tried to flee from the red head's tempestuous wrath. Once she's decided she's had enough of swinging an axe like a crazed lunatic she strolls over to the Peacekeepers, wearing a sweet smile that I know is as fake as most Capitolite's breasts and beckons one toward her; I can't help but laugh as the biggest, most muscular Peacekeeper strolls forward confidently. There is something rather amusing seeing these two square up, the tiny doll like red head with a temper like a rabid dog and the Peacekeeper; tall, broad and above all else: Disciplined, which is a trait I would put money on that our 7 fire cracker drastically lacks.

The mountain of a man lunges towards Sera, but she steps out of the way and it continues like that for a minute or so before she employs her second favourite weapon: Her vicious tongue. The taunts begin 'Come on fatty' 'God, you're sweating like a fat lass at a disco' 'Now you see me, now you don't' 'Is he stuck in slow motion mode?' His fellow Peacekeepers are stifling chuckles and many of the Gamemaker's are laughing openly at the man's public embarrassment. His movements become quicker but sloppier, until his fist catches Sera's shoulder; she doesn't cry out in pain, but she begins to turn a violent shade of puce and BOOM. No longer is she dancing around him, this canon is hitting home. She kicks him with as much force as she can muster in the fork of his legs and judging by his strangled cry, it hurt. But it isn't over yet, she pulls back her fist: CRACK, you hear as his nose breaks, you see as his blood gushes to the floor. As he lies on his stomach, Sera repeatedly nudges him in the ribs with her toe until he rolls onto his back before she places her foot on his chest and her arms in the air: The universal pose signifying victory. I may have thought seeing these two stand face to face was funny, but it is nowhere near as funny as seeing the porcelain doll take down the man who seemed to made of rock with her bare hands: So it is true them. size really doesn't matter.

I hear Seneca dismiss her but rather than leaving, she steps over her fallen opponent; ensuring to put all her weight on his chest judging by his spluttering cough, I'm sure I hear a muttered 'Wimp' and dances over to us, gives us an overly exaggerated curtsey and a wide smile that I interpret as: 'If any of you were down here, I would of kicked your ass too' and dances off, making sure to give the Peacekeeper one last kick in the ribs. Oh, what would we do if we didn't have tributes like this girl? Being a Gamemaker wouldn't be half as good fun if it weren't for those 'strong' characters that we get to break down bit by bit until they are nothing but emotional wrecks. The Peacekeeper is excused, we're dropping Peacekeepers like flies today.

And then the man of the moment, Lyle Carrington, walks in. Instantly recognisable by his cocky smirk and laid back gait, oh you wouldn't be so laid back if you knew what I had in store for you Mister Carrington. In fact, you wouldn't be smiling at all; you'd be trying fruitlessly to escape as I laughed at your fate, doomed to perish but we are all born to die but in this case: Lyle Carrington will be dying a lot earlier than he expected. For he is the puppet and I am the puppet master and well I'll be cutting away the strings that hold him up very, very soon. I feel a sinister leer form on my face, and Lyle must notice it too because for one second that over bearing confidence wavers and he looks like the scared little boy I know he is. Mess up my games, and you die: Simple rule. Another year, his devilish good looks may have been enough to spare him the full extent of my wrath but this year we have been blessed with an array of beautiful tributes; All the more fun for me then. I don't take particular notice, his score doesn't matter in my eyes; high or low, either way you spin it he is dead. I'm pretty sure he rough houses with a few Peacekeepers, throws some spears and then lifts some weights. He leaves quickly, maybe he was unnerved by my eyes following him like a hawk after all.

Then comes a 12 year old, one Lacey Burton according to my notes; In my cold heart I always feel a pang for the 12 year olds; there have been a few 12 year old Victors but it is sheer luck that wins it for them, plus a 12 year old Victor is rarer than rain in a dessert. She smiles sweetly as she demonstrates which berries are poisonous and which are edible, she heads toward the knife throwing station and throws a few knives, surprisingly they all hit the target but I sincerely doubt that any of the wounds would be fatal. She then heads towards the camouflage station, often an overlooked skill but she seems to excel at it, if she gets the right material I have no doubt that this girl could camouflage herself so effectively that she could become invisible. I nod my head, she may not be the strongest tribute but she doesn't appear to be as weak as many tributes her age I have seen over the years. She sets a few simple traps after that, demonstrating her capabilities to catch food before she just dawdles around: Making a fish hook, showing a simple breast stroke. When dismissed she gives us another glowing smile, I note that some of the more 'maternal' or as I like to say 'emotionally stunted' Gamemakers smile back or wave. I roll my eyes at their stupidity, why concern yourselves with the tributes or emotionally invest in them when 23 are guarenteed certain death? It is simply ludicrous, I'll have my fun with the Victor if I deem them worthy of my attention.

However much I may criticise my fellow Gamemakers for not paying attention, I note that my focus is slipping; the lower districts often struggle the most and I can feel a migraine beginning to flare to life as Aezir walks in, he spares no time in noticing us; he simply heads towards the dummies and grabs a pair of sickles before striking. It's as though he has zoned out, his instincts guide every slash; he moves around like a ballerina; surprisingly graceful I note for a boy who more than likely works harvesting wheat. I make a side note to include sickles in the cornucopia, they're an obscure weapon so they'll be placed in the very mouth; it'll be very interesting to see if this dark haired boy is willing to fight for the weapon he so obviously favours and guessing from what he has shown us today, wielding a sickle seems to be the only skill he possesses that may benefit him within the arena. He then throws the sickles to show the boomerang like effect, the angle of the wrist when flicked can affect the direction the curved blade travels; Impressive, but his skills appear one dimensional. He may get a weapon but most tributes do die from exposure and such, I hope he has an ally who has amassed these survival skills or maybe he has learnt about the skills and has made a tactical decision to not show us. I rub my temples, trying to ease the pain away. I need to stop thinking about the tributes motivations and focussing on what they show us, any questions I may have will be answered when they are fighting for their lives. He leaves, a sickle in hand and when he realises he flicks his wrist and the sickle soars in a high arch and beheads a dummy: Well, that most certainly leaves an impression, primary and recency effect I believe it is called: Leaving on such a high note will make sure he is remembered, potentially he isn't the brainless oaf I thought he could be.

Oh Fiona, another rule breaker but luckily for her I have deemed her disability as a mitigating factor when I was deciding how the two deviants should be punished, but that doesn't mean she won't have to fight a lot harder than every other tribute to survive the bloodbath that is guarenteed at the Cornucopia; and even if she manages to survive what I throw at her, I'm sure another tribute will take out the girl with the crippled leg. I give a morbid chuckle, what a legacy to have, what a way to be remembered: The girl with the crippled leg. She hobbles around the survival stations: Lights a fire, ties a knot but her time is ticking away a lot quicker than she can move and I smile. I can see her beginning to panic as she notices the time seemingly flying by, she hobbles as quickly as that useless leg will take her to the archery station; it seems Miss Harkin isn't the best at handling pressure for when she raises the bow you can see her visibly shaking. Tick, tock: her time is running out and she fires three arrows, they all hit the target but it is obvious by the way she bites down on her lip that she hasn't hit her intended target. If she has any hope of survival with that leg of hers she needs to learn two things: How to handle pressure and how to conceal her emotions; the tears of self pity that fill her eyes when she nods respectfully sickens me. We're waiting another ten minutes while she is hobbles away from the room, I hear hushed whisper threatening to emerge so I glare at my colleagues until I hear the symphony of silence I expect from them; this work may be monotonous, even tedious at times but for appearances sake we need to appear more refined: I may speak to the President about this, he wanted me as Head Gamemaker but I convinced him Seneca was a better puppet but maybe he needs to have a little word with Seneca to ensure he ensures that the Gamemakers learn to act in a manner that is both dignified and proffessional.

District 10, it feel as though I have stepped into a western and it is blatantly obvious that Austin and Pepper, who are both personal favourites of mine, have collaborated to ensure both tributes amass a good score as both tributes do the exact same thing; they wear the same expression and perform a series of demonstrations, each highlightinh their individual skill set. Both nod respectfully upon entry to the training centre; I appreciate this, the element of rehearsal to a degree is inspiring: allowing us to see what they can do without them dilly dallying around trying to select which station. It is extremely logical and maybe it should be enforced that all tributes should provide a specific programme and for there to be certain etiquette observed: It would make things run a lot smoother and allow the tributes to utilise the time to their best advantage. I make a quick memo to Austin and Pepper, congratulating them on devising such a strategy, like most true Capitolites; not those mornic beings who think dying their skin makes them superior to the district rats, I admire efficiency and reward it accordingly. Maybe I will allow Austin the pleasure of my company this evening as a reward.

The boy it seems is able to work a length of rope into anything; a noose, then he ties a Peacekeeper up and watches for a few moments as the man struggles fruitlessly to escape the bindings. He then uses his rope as a lasso to pull things toward him, he then attaches a weight to his lasso and swings it so it crashes into the torso of a dummy: Creative use of materials. He then shows some other, less impressive skills but he establishes a balance between survival skills and physical demonstrations: identifying poisonous and edible plantlife, climbing, weight lifting and then working with some throwing knives. A well structured display, showing combative and survival skills makes him a rather well rounded tribute but something about the boyish grin I've noticed is an almost permanent fixture on his round face; the way his blue eyes twinkle with some innocent humour makes me think this boy may not be able to commit murder. Despite being 16, he seems more carefree and child like than Bala or Lacey; and I can easily imagine this boy being exploited, or manipulated by the likes of Autumn but as I promised myself: Now is not the time that think of the tributes in the arena, my only concern should be rating their 'potential'. He leaves and is soon replaced by his district partner, who like him is able to manipulate rope so efficiently and effortlessly it appears as though the rope is directed by thoughts; she also excels at using a spear in both ranged and close combat as well as hand to hand combat. From her large physique I had expected her to be physically strong but that was an underestimation with apparent ease she sends a Peacekeeper soaring through the air as though he weighed no more than a feather. Then she shocks me, she removes her shoes and ties them together before swinging them above her head before throwing them at an unprepared Peacekeeper. The pseudo lasso of sorts wraps around his throat and he falls to his knees as he struggles to catch his breath: Whether or not she manages to get anything at the Cornucopia she'll have a weapon, incapacitate her enemies with her shoes and then break their necks. She leaves, her face blank but I've seen that protective urge lighting up her eyes every now and then; she's wet my appetite: I want to see some more of this Ginna girl.

10 eases into 11, the boy Nicholas looks almost feline with his strangely angled cheekbones but what strikes me is his pale skin; usually the offerings from the agriculture district are dark skinned. Fair skinned people are generally rich, however presumptuous that sounds, so it is rather unfortunate he was reaped but alas it is the Hunger Games and no one is safe. Most 'rich' tributes from outlying districts are rather useless but he seems to do well, I'm just surprised by his weapon of choice: A slingshot just seems juvenile, but when he uses it to fire a dagger into the bulls eye of a target almost 15 metres away I revise my former opinion that slingshots are harmless or juvenile. He then climbs to the top of the climbing course, but he seems rather clumsy and almost slips a few times; once he reaches the summit he fires a series of berries and small metal balls at targets all across the room, he is surprisingly accurate and having secured the high ground he has a tactical advantage. His dismount from the artificial tree is as messy as his ascend. For the last few minutes he identifies berries, but he places nightlock in the pile of edible plants which is a serious matter: I hope his district partner who I also assume is his ally will be able to stop him poisoning himself. Shortly afterwardshe is dismissed, he gives a shaky smile and scarpers from the room. So he isn't the typical rich kid who'll get themselves killed by being totally useless.

Clorisa Orielle, she walks in completely expressionless; her eyes glazed over as she walks around the room seemingly without purpose; she could be trying to pull from what will from now on be known as an 'Autumn Thorn' as my colleauges seem to think but something, call it gut instinct if you must, tells me this girl isn't trying to maintain some carefully constructed facade. She raises her hand to cover her ears, her face scrunches up in what can only be pain as silent tears make tracks down her face. A Peacekeeper ambles over toward her but my scream of warning is to late as her face transforms into a leer, her eyes promising blood shed; like a wildcat she springs at the man and tackles him to the ground; like some possessed being she scratches, bites and pounds every part of his body she can reach. Due to her scrawny physique, she is easily overpowered and restrained but she is no longer responsive; her eyes are blank and she stares at the ceiling, a small smile makings itself known on her full lips. Everything is silent until she starts giggling, it gets louder and louder: The laughter is that of manic hysteria as she is escoreted from the room, collapsed in the Peacekeepers arms with her head lolling backwards and forwards. Speechless, what have I just witnessed? Tributes are prone to varying degrees of a mental breakdown during the Hunger Games, but it usually happens once they've been deployed into the arena, as expected hushed whispers begin to arise from all around me and for once I don't silence them, I'm still trying to process what I have just witnessed. Most unusual indeed. Before I can gather my thoughts, the District 12 Male tribute walks in and however much I try to concentrate on what he is doing I can't seem to drown out the echoes of Clorisa's manic laughter; the inhuman tone to her hysterical screams but the question is: Is she a threat to herself or her fellow tributes? And more importantly, is it prudent to allow someone so mentally 'fragile' to be given a chance at becoming Victor? I don't know.

I manage to catch glimpses of what this Archie Cross boy is capable of, he is strong and fast; and he seems to be mediocre with a sword and rather efficient with a bow and arrow, too many people favour archery in my opinion. It doesn't strike me as something worthy of recognition unless the person is exemplary at their craft. Under any other circumstances I would have paid attention, I am curious about this boy: His tendency to sit back and watch, the level of tact and caution he exerted when putting together an alliance that rivals the careers in terms of numbers. It was impressive but his boring display cannot hold my attention as I consider what I've seen today. 24 tributes, each and everyone of them ha s that something about them, a sense of individuality that Archie seems to lack despite his diplomatic approach to the games so far. He'll need to find this sense of 'individuality' or he will become the typical District 12 tribute: Dead and forgotten, but something tells me that he may have a trick up his sleeve. We were set the seemingly impossible task of trying to create the most memorable Hunger Games ever known, with such an interesting bunch of tributes, a repertoire of lethal mutts and an imaginative arena: Maybe that task isn't so impossible after all. He is soon dismissed, forgotten for now; although I've managed to put together a few notes together regarding his score when his district partner waltzes in with a cheeky smile on her face.

Another 12 year old, one came in with a sweet smile and then this Livvya girl strolls in with a grin and I grow curious as to why she seems to radiate confidence; she wastes no time, she grabs a few small knives and then heads towards the artificial tree which she scales as though it is second nature: quickly and without any stumbling. She gets to the top of the tree and smiles down at us, cheeky and then she dives from the tree. My heart is in my mouth, is she committing suicide? It would be hell on Earth trying to replace a tribute with the actual games so close, but I breathe a sigh of relief as she catches herself on one of the rafters that line the ceiling; she steadies her balance and moves along the metal rafters but her steps make no sound whatsoever. I admire her use of the environment, tactically she is shielded from attacks from below and very few of the other tributes could follow her to the rafters; the metal couldn't bear the weight of most tributes. Smart, then her other skills begin to make an appearance: A small knife is thrown and strikes a dummy, the blade imbedding itself where the collar bone would be; not necessarily lethal but it could maim or disarm another tribute. She moves around the rafter so quietly, we cannot anticipate where she will strike from next. Her accuracy leaves something to be desired, but she has impressed me with her originality. She is dismissed, and as soon as she has left I hand Seneca my notes; he and the other Gamemakers may be content to sit around drinking and gauging themselves to only throw the contents of their stomach up later but I am a true Gamemaker: And having seen what these tributes can do, getting a flavour for their capabilities and in some cases their weaknesses; well I am going to make some minor adjustments to certain elements of the arena and its muttation inhabitants to make it more 'compatible' with our motley crowd of tributes.

**Sheen Rownan, District 1 Mentor. **

"...I messed it all up, I mean the swords balance was slightly off centre and it just all went wrong from there. I mean, they looked at me like I'd grown an extra head. I'm so unready for these games, I'll be the first one dead. Just know it, I mean then we have the interviews and everyone will just hate me. Will they throw things at me?"

Yesterday, Nicoli was a bag of nerves and maybe some part of my subconscious hoped in vain that his nerves would evaporate after the private sessions; I am sure he can do this but he needs some confidence. I need a way to reassure him that he can succeed, and maybe a way to secure his way into the career alliance as compensation if his session went as poorly as he is making out. In all fairness, with his irrational desire to prove his worth to his 'beloved' Capitol I can imagine him getting flustered and simplt breaking down in tears; despite his 'extensive' career training and his general likeability, he isn't the most emotionally stable. How do I handle this precarious situation? I have complete faith in Nicoli, but he isn't like me: He doesn't have that 'something special' that would enable him to win these games alone. He needs allies; unfortunately, he needs the careers and although they are the longest standing alliance: They are the most fragile and willing to turn on one another at the drop of a hat. If he can't bring a high training score he'll have to bring something else and would require the backing of another career. Miss Ruby Ashford, however much I despise you; you for once are about to be exploited because you are about to become of use to me. Let me show you how I won my games, whore.

"Nicoli, you have no need to worry; training score be damned. You are almost guarenteed a place in any alliance you desire; anyone with a brain would want the most sponsored tribute to date as a part of their alliance. Think about what you have to offer, anyone you're in an alliance with will want for nothing." Nicoli's eyes are as wide as saucers, you can see his confidence growing in leaps and bounds: Despite any reservations he may have in terms of his training score, he has been consoled that the Capitol citizens he so ardently admire actually like him enough to sponsor him. But it is not my tributes reaction that concerns me, it is his despicable partner who garners my attention from where she is entwined with my fellow mentor, the mentally incompetent Platinum. Like a shark who has caught the scent of blood, her attention diverts from her temporary lover to me; her full lips forming a smirk and from one bitch to another I can see the cogs whirling in her head, the calculating glint in her eye. Silly girl, if she intends on surviving these games she has a few things to learn: Like trying to conceal her emotions, but seeing as I want to see her dead by the end of the games I won't be giving her any lessons.

"Oh Nikki, don't be so silly. You're a career, you're so amazing and everyone will just love you, you're adorable. If your score is bad, I'll talk to Kai and get him to let you in. I mean we're besties now, we have to help each other..." Talk to Kai? Is that what the youngsters are calling it nowadays; but that is beside the point, she may be cruel and I don't doubt the fact she will be a contender in these games, but she is rather predictable which I am thankful for. Nicoli's back is facing her but I can see the recgonation flicker in his wide blue eyes and the big smile plastered on his face, he winks at me before turning to his 'best friend' and engulfs her in a big hug.

"Rubs, you are so nice. I mean imagine how fabulous it will be with us two as allies; it'll be like amazingly amazing. I'm sure you'll get a stupendous score... your handspring into a two and a half somersault was so great, you deserve a 12." Oh, Nikki: childlike enthusiasm aside, you really do have a killer instinct: Smart and if you continue playing this little game, there is nothing standing in your way from becoming Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games. The lovefest soon comes to an end when we hear the anthem blaring out, the training scores are about to be announced: All attention is on the television as we take our seats; me next to Nicole and Ruby once again entwined with her blonde haired beau. The familiar face of Claudius Smith with ridiculously orange hair fills the screen with his considerable body mass: this man is most definitely not a good representitive of the Capitol, where being thin seems to be everyones biggest priority, with the exception of celebrating 23 childrens death every year of course.

"Earlier today, all 24 of our wonderful tributes performed for our Gamemakers and I am here to announce thier individual training scores: Will anyone score a 12 this year? Ooo.. it is just so exciting, now first of all: Nicoli Spinoza of District 1, has secured a score of...9..." I hear Nicoli's sigh of utter relief, after a quick round of congratulations; I see that sense of victory in Ruby's eyes, not only has he secured his place in the Career alliance with his score, he has secured Ruby's 'loyalty' thanks to his popularity with sponsors: Nicoli will be able to drift along, Ruby will make sure her 'puppy' is not hurt too early on. Nicoli 1- Ruby 0. Now for the score of the whore .

"And Ruby Ashford has secured a score of... 10." Her smug smirk seriously does tempt me to lean over and throttle the girl, but I need to warn Nicoli about her: 10's are rare and it tells me that this girl does possess some form of skill, unless she secured that score by sleeping with a Gamemaker. It wouldn't surprise me if that is what happened: but that is beside the point, next port of call: Interviews.

**Bala Eaglehawk, District 4.**

I'm not nervous, Mags has told me time and time again that the tributes with the highest scores rarely win. But that doesn' t mean that I don't want to score well, I want to win; I want to be considered a contender, I don't want the likes of Kai to think that I'm going to roll over and die. So far me and Mags have sat in silence as Kai and Ocean discuss everyone's scores and whether or not they are a plausible threat: Kai has been his oh so arrogant self, labelling his career 'allies' as incompetent; I believe differently, I know this won't be easy and I know everyone is a threat. District 1 scored high, but that was as expected and Mags has told me to make sure not to bump into one from the very beginning; District 2, high scores as always, but what do you expect from a district that celebrates the brutality? Claude got a 9 but I suspect he is the weakest link in the Career pack and Mags shares that opinion, but he could still be a threat; Sandy, a 9 but the girl is a threat because Mags said she's got a 'fire in 'er eyes' and despite rumours that Mags is a senile, batty old woman who has 'lost her touch' I trust her implicitly, especially when it comes to the Hunger Games. My palms are a little sweaty, now comes District 3: My allies, but Mags told me to keep our alliance as quiet as possible and retain the element of surprise for when we're in the arena.

"...what a joke, District 3 will be bloodbaths yet again; the boy will blow himself up and the ginger one: She'll find herself on the end of my spear..." Their mirthless laughter makes every muscle tense, my grip on my glass tightens and I am hit with an almost overwhelming desire to throw my glass at the arrogant sod I have the misfortune of calling my district partner but before I can take any action Mags places her hand on my thigh; I know I have to keep my temper under check, either way me and Kai will be facing off and all I can do is hope my allies help me take out the despicable boy. Ever since I 'outshone' him at the Chariot Rides, our little rivalry has been growing and we all know that it is only so long until it all explodes; and we all know only one of us will leave the wreck alive, I just hope and pray that the survivor is me. I take a calming breathe and give Mama Mags a grin, her responsive toothless smile sets me at ease. I return my gaze to the television.

"Leonardo Wence with a score of 5.." Not too high and not too low, Leo has never stuck me as a contender but Greer was adamant that he would be a valuable asset; and since I need allies in order to win, I have to trust her judgement. I tune out Kai and his demeaning remark about my ally, Mags shakes her head at his arrogance; in private Mags has started referring to him as a 'blowfish', he seems large and intimidating but in one second he can be popped and then he is no bigger and badder than the rest of us 'mere mortals'.

"Greer Ballentine earns herself an 8.." I feel as though my insides are dancing the conga, I struggle to keep the smug smile off of my face; Greer is definitely capable. I manage to hold myself together and keep my alliance secret, but I can't swallow my torrent of laughter at Kai's reaction: Like a seal, he splutters and sends water spraying all over the floor. Isn't it great to see how dignified the careers are? I mean Kai is meant to be a 'God against men.', his words not mine, but at times like this you can see he is nothing but a teenage boy with a sickeningly high self esteem. He turns and glares at me, and I just give him a girly smile and bat my eyelashes; it may be stupid to irk someone who could kill me with his bare hands but it's so easy. He seems seconds away from lunging at me; but alas Claudius Templesmith says his name and his attention is back on the TV, in Kai land, Kai is the centre of the universe.

"and Kai Thallasa with an impressive10." What? Both Ruby and Kai have gotten 10's, and they're always together for some reason: And I think I know the reason, sex. They are compatible: Both totally self obsessed, both attractive and obviousl, both extremely lethal. I square my shoulders, I can beat him: The score means nothing. With that thought I await my own score, tuning out his arrogant diatribe about he is the 'Supreme Leader of the Universe' or something utterly ridiculous like that. If only he could drown in his own ego, well that would be ever so convenient. Butterflies burst to life in my stomach, I've just realised that its me next; I calm myself, imagining the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks. I close my eyes and feel the pressure of Mags' gnarled hands wrap around my own.

"Bala Eaglehawk shines yet again with a score of 8." 8? My eyes burst open, and I can't suppress the unadulterated joy coursing through my every vein. I jump to my feet, clapping my hands together; acting every bit like the 13 year old I am. I did that, I'm not some powerless girl. I throw my arms against my mentor; her arms wrap around me, despite her general fraility her grip is firm and she whispers into my ear.

"Well done pup, one step closer t' comin' back t' me litter." I can't control myself, I turn to see both Ocean and Kai wearing expressions that are a mixture of confusion and outrage. How dare I, some pathetic witch from District 4 do so well. Oh Kai, you should see what else I can do; Let the games begin now Kai, your days are numbered.

**Another quick update, I know the reactions are lame but... I'm leaving it there; you'll get some more reactions (well reflections on scores) in next couple of chapters, here are the scores:**

**Nicoli-9**

**Ruby-10**

**Claude-9**

**Sandy-9**

**Leo-5**

**Greer-8**

**Kai-10**

**Bala-8**

**Galen-7**

**Autumn-3**

**Iian-6**

**Dari-2**

**Asher-7**

**Sera-9**

**Lyle-8**

**Lacey-5**

**Aezir-6**

**Finn-4**

**Carrick-7**

**Ginna-8**

**Nicholas-6**

**Clorisa-4**

**Archie-6**

**Livvya-6**


	43. A Bit Of Sparkle Before Showtime

**Hola,I return... Mainly because I have all 24 tributes for the sequel; so your reward is a new chapter; written rather quickly...but it's the interview prep which means next chapter is the interviews. BOOM, then we have last night, the 60 second countdown and then people start dying: Rather morbid but tis the Hunger Games: 23 of 'em have got to die.**

**AND THE TITLE OF THE SEQUEL WILL BE: The 63rd Annual Hunger Games: Crushed Dreams and Broken Hope**

**I've noticed that these people haven't had a lot to say lately; especially Livvya and Asher... Plus we haven't technically heard from Autumn in a while, and I love writing her :-D**

**Livvya Howell, District 12.**

_Head held high, dress never comes above the ankle, smile constantly, don't cut across Ceasar, back straight, don't stumble when you walk..._

Effie seriously gave me a lot to remember, all day today she has done nothing but talk about the importance of etiquette during this stage of the games, honestly she didn't stop talking all day and every time my prep team actually stop talking I swar I can hear a faint echo of what I have christened the 'Trinket Trill'. Her teachings are incredibly useful, the Capitol are more likely to sponsor someone who can present themselves in a 'truly ladylike manner' and after the Chariot Rides: Well, Effie says that we need to make the biggest impression possible, I just wish that making such a big impression didn't involve having to wear what resembles small skyscrapers on my feet.

Those 'heels' that Effie had me marching around for in hours have murdered my feet, quite literally,every time my feet touch the floor I feel like my feet will simply drop off. If I didn't know that our eccentric escort was doing nothing but trying to improve mine and Archie's chances in these games then I'd probably propose a conspiracy theory: Effie and her killer heels were trying to handicap me before the games. I giggle to myself, but then I regret it when I remember that poor Fiona girl with her poorly leg; right then I don't feel like smiling at all. Cortina must notice the dip in my mood for her pollen yellow face, with those maroon coloured eyes appear right before my own with her lime green eyebrow quirked questioningly.

"So, Livvy. What's up? You're going to look fabulous again tonight, why are you so down? Oh, turn that frown upside down." Amaratia with her turquoise hair and skin has also popped up and is nodding along with Cortina, I feel as if I'm face to face with two aliens and on that thought I start giggling. It's kind of impossible to be anything but bubbly and happy around these two they're so enthusiastic and childlike its infectious.

"Nothing, I'm just a little tired and my feet hurt; Effie had me walking in heels all day and it was my first time so..." I trail off, these two are so enarmoured with fashion and accesories that I'm sure they understand; I may have been lying, but I can't tell them that I think the Hunger Games are awful and that I'm petrified of dying. They may be sweet but they're from the Capitol: They aren't like the districts, they don't see these games as a deathfest because they've been so brain washed they see it as entertainment. Will they laugh and jeer? My smile falters yet again but this time they don't notice, after a few moments of making cooing sounds in what I assume was sympathy they started to talk about their own shoe collections; which I gather are rather extensive by the sound of it.

They are talking rapidly about vintage Jimmy Choo's and Louboutin's and I just nod along amiably. The door crashes open, Cortina and Amaratia's reaction is both comical and informative; by the way they've jumped in the air like children caught doing something wrong by Peacekeepers, there is no need to crane my neck as there is only one person it could be: Regina Rizetsky. The snooty leader of the prep team whose skin is a sickening shade of purple; thankfully, she isn't scowling as she was the first time she met me and somehow she has managed to hold back the tirade of insults. I say a silent prayer of thanks to whatever it is out there. Amaratia and Cortina scurry over to their 'work stations' as Regina walks into the room; I direct my eyes toward the white flooring, if I don't make eye contact maybe she'll pretend I'm not here.

Unfortunately, she makes a beeline for me: well I'm taking back my earlier thanks. She grasps a strand of my hair and I chance a quick glance in her direction, I feel myself shrink further into my chair and when you're as small as I am that is not something easily achieved. The look in her eyes is a judgment, and with her lips pursed the way they are I don't think the judgment is a good one. She clears her throat and I sigh quietly to myself: Here comes the torrent of abuse, self esteem prepare yourself for round two. Amaratia and Cortine wear expressions of fear, awaiting the inevitable explosion with bated breath.

"Hmmm... Well done Livvya; your hair is well conditioned and your skin smooth. Your nails are still being chewed so I'll have Amaratia fix on some acrylics; Corinta will take care of your hair; I'll do your make up." I'm shocked, that was a compliment; a bit backhanded and more than a little patronizing but a compliment none the less. And it's not just me, Amaratia is standing with her mouth open and just staring at Regina as though she has grown an extra head whereas Cortina is looking around as if those weird camera men people are going to jump out from somewhere and say that everything was just a big joke. I smile up sweetly at Regina and if I'm not mistaken her thin lips curve at the edges, well today seems to be a day where miracles can happen. Maybe this is a sign that I'll perform a miracle and win the Hunger Games. Regina looks around, any trace of a smile gone as her trademark frown reappears, full force and she snaps her fingers impatently.

"You incompetent ninny's, I believe you were given instructions and I think it's time you decided to follow said instructions or you will lose your jobs quicker than Marc Jacobs' autumn collection flew off the shelves last year." I haven't a clue what Regina means but the effect of her words is instant, my preppy prep team burst to life in an instant; moving so quickly they seem to be coloured blurs. Next moment I'm thrown back into my chair; Amaratia is filing my nails while babbling mindlessly about everything from nail beds to rubber ducks. Cortina is running her finger through my hair and I close my eyes to the soothing motion; the gentle lull of their voices like a lullaby. I am just about to fall asleep when Regina's voice joins the din, my eyes spring open. If Regina caught me snoozing, she'd disembowel me with her tweezers and with the way she wields them like a deadly weapon I'd say it is a distinct possibility.

"So, Livvya are you prepared for the interviews?" In true Regina style, the question is delivered bluntly and blatantly expecting an answer. I blush, I don't know what to exactly say: I know that I've got my angle down: Sweet and humble, the 12 year old who did well in training and just wants to go home and it isn't necessarily difficult seeing that it is true and thanks to Effie's etiquette lessons I know all about presentation. So technically I am prepared as thoroughly as I can be but, tomorrow morning it all begins and however much to I would like to believe it is not true: I don't think I'm ready, it is like a clock ticking from inside my skull. Every tic and every toc is counting down the seconds until I die and however nice my prep team are, they will never know what this feels like. I feel tears well in my eyes, I need to keep it all together and now is the perfect time to start and try out my interview technique. I take a quick second to compose myself and then smile while shrugging my shoulders.

"I can only do my best, and hopefully it'll all work out. I just want my family to be proud of me." This causes an outburst of cooing on Cortina's and Amaratia is actually in tears as she paints my nails an earthy green; even Regina places her hand against her chest and her thin lips turn down. It seems my interview technique works, and if it can provoke a reaction in Regina then maybe I will get sponsors. That thought puts a smile on my face and the conversation turns once again to parties and pop culture so I just nod along. Is this what life is like in the Capitol? Getting pampered and just gossiping about anything and everything; is this my reward before I am brutally murdered? To experience, however momentarily, what it feels like to be a girl in the Capitol where the Hunger Games are nothing but a game.

**Asher Blackwood, District 7.**

Keeping a smile on your face is difficult when you're having every hair ripped from your body, but my smile is still a permanent fixture on my face: Sera is constantly reminding me that I look gormless, harmless and that she thinks I'm a secret serial killer since I'm the one person who can genuinely smile since 24 of us were dragged into the Hunger Games. But none of those are the reasons why I smile: I smile because an optimistic outlook makes everything seem better, I could easily be curled up in a corner crying about the fact that tomorrow but how would that help me? I can't be thinking about how I'll die because I need to go home, I need to see Ardis again and try and live a normal life. Plus, my chances at winning this are ok; winning the chance to live my life and the eternal glory which isn't that important but knowing there will always be a hot meal on the table for everyone is something worth fighting for. I have a 1 in 24 chance of being the winner and considering I scored 7 which is higher than most others, my chances continue to grow and grow: A reason to be a little optimistic if I've ever seen one.

I look around the room my prep team had evacuated, all the cosmetic products and the weird devices like the ones they used to curl my eyelashes; is this what it would be like if I managed to win? Would me and my loved ones want for nothing, would we have to resort to interesting ourselves like painting our faces all the colours of the rainbow. How amusing would it be to actually have the time to do stupid things like that? How pointless? Ideally, I'd win this, go home and marry Ardis and live a simple life as the lumberjack which is all I know how to be; but I'll accept simply getting to go home and hug all my friends and family. I lay back in the chair, my muscles relax; Physically, I won't face much opposition in these games: I am tall, muscular and incredibly strong but that won't win the games. I face some stiff competition, a lot of people scored high and I know a lot of them are more prepared and more willing to kill but all I can do is hope that my dillegence and optimism might be enough to help me survive and if not: I will know that I tried my hardest to get home to those I love.

"Thank God that you're co-operative than that Seraphine. Asher, you're pleasant and undestanding, a far cry from that stubborn little wart; Designer's dream Asher, that's what you are." I jump, I hadn't heard my stylist come in and thankfully I was wearing the robe put aside for me; I understand that Caggie has to see me naked but it is nice to have a little warning; I grin at her. A lot of people think the Capitol are all dimwitted, with their ridiculous attire and all of the confusing cosmetics but Caggie is nothing like that: She is an elderly lady, with a plume of silver hair and blue eyes that seem both intelligent and caring: She looks like a loving grandmother and fortunately she acts like one too. I roll my eyes good naturedly, Sera and her antics have been a sore spot for the Capitolites since we got here; although it has been shushed up quite thoroughly, she actually broke one of her prep teams jaws when they tried waxing her so I suppose I can understand why some people may be a little irked by my district partner.

"Caggie, as always it is a pleasure to see you but I've told you; Sera isn't half as bad as she seems, it's all a front and I 'm sure you understand why." Caggie nods her head quickly and waltzes over to me, age has done nothing to effect her sublime grace and she pinches my cheek, I try to squirm away but I can't keep the smile off of my face. She heads towards a cabinet and pulls out a garment bag and drapes it carefully over the back of the chair I had occupied earlier. She plucks some tweezers from the vanity table and hobbles over to me, pulling stray hairs from my body so quickly that I have no time to register the stinging pain I have come to associate with this particular method of hair removal.

"Asher, you 're probably right; she might be a nice young lady but she is one to watch. I've seen a few tributes like her in the past and as you can tell I've been around a while; they are usually dark horses but so are you Asher. You may not be as desensitized to violence and as brutal as the careers, or as smart as that Greer girl, or as much of a loose canon as Sera but that doesn't make you any less of a threat. There is an old saying and I think it applies to you, to kill with kindness." I nod along with Caggie, her words of encouragement are soothing and however arrogant it may sound it is nice to know that someone has that degree of confidence in me. A dark horse? Not the obvious choice for a Victor, but there is every possibility it could be me. But one thing she said doesn't make sense.

"Thank you but I don't really understand how I'm supposed to kill with kindness." Caggie looks conflicted, and she takes a step backwards circling me and for a moment I don't think she is going to elaborate on that bit of wisdom she had shared with me; I suppose I understand, Sera herself pointed it out: To get close to anyone involved with anyone involved in the Hunger Games can be perilous, its putting you in the firing line of pain and who would put themselves in that position willingly? Caggie comes to stand before me, she looks a little nervous.

"Now, my duty as a stylist is to simply dress you but I believe in going above and beyond my duty; its a very old fashioned way of thinking but thank the powers that be that I'm old fashioned; killing with kindness isn't something I can explain exactly but you'll see it for yourself, now remember you're a good person: Hardworking, kind and full of life and you may be expected to do horrific things but remember that you're not only a good person but a deserving Victor." To say I'm confused would be the biggest understatement in the whole of Panem's history, is Caggie telling me that I should turn into a killing machine? What kind of weapon is kindness in comparison to a sword? I'm sure my expression mirrors my inner bewilderment. I want to ask her what she means, I don't understand how Caggie's definition of going above and beyond will help me anyway but I thank her for advice. I can tell Caggie can tell that I am trying to comprehend what she had just said by that twinkle in her blue eyes.

"How about we give your brain a rest and get you dressed, so what's your interview angle?" I am thankful she decided to change the subject even though I know it's inevitable that I'll ponder those words yet again, if I live long enough that is. And as for her joke, even though it was at my expense was good to alleviate the tension that was becoming to begin overwhelming. I stand there until Caggie looks at me with her silver eyebrow arched, I feel like treading on my own foot; I don't want to appear as ignorant. I try to answer and it comes out as one giant splutter, I feel a bright blush creeping up my neck as Caggie begins to laugh at what I can only call my complete lack of eloquence.

"I'm sorry, Blight said I should go for proud but humble; as in proud of where I've come from and humbled by the generoisty of the Capitol and so on." Caggie nods approvingly, and I grin: Sera and I are exceptionally lucky that we've been given interview angles that aren't that far from reality, me being kind and hard working whereas she is fierce and sarcastic; although she has had to practice reigning in her blatant dislike for the Capitol and smiling as though the expression isn't causing her pain. Caggie grasps the bag and opens it allowing me to see a flash of red checks and I can't help but smile: Seems as though Caggie has decided to sustain the idea of representing the tributes district, today I will truly be myself on that stage; the kind, hardworking lumberjack.

"Thank you" The words are simple but I hope Caggie grasps the sincerity: I never wanted to become somebody I wasn't throughout the games, and somehow my elderly stylist has managed to help with that problem too. She smiles and pats me on the cheek like an affectionate grandmother, however stupid it seems this woman I've known for three days has become my family here in the Capitol: A source of comfort amongst the chaos and however inappropiate it may be I pull the petite woman in my arms and give her a hug, picturing Ardis and my family here with us. She returns my hug fleetingly before stepping back and unless I'm mistaken there are tears shining in her blue eyes. She hands me the garment bag and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, before waltzing over to the door and looking back an attempt at a smile graces her refined features.

"Asher, you're a big boy and I'm sure I can trust you to get yourself dressed... I have a few things I need to take care of; I'm sure you'll charm everyone as easily as you have me. Never forget who you are Asher, now good luck and I'll see you in the morning but remember, I retire this year and it really would be the icing on the cake to retire knowing I had styled another Victor." She leaves quickly but I'm sure I hear a broken sob as the door closes. I strip myself and pull the clothes from the satin bag, it seems as though Caggie is another person I'll have to fight feircely to return to and fight feircely I shall: The lumberjack chops down whatever is before him, and I'm a lumberjack through and through and however gruesome it may sound; I'll have to cut down my opposition as I would the trees that surround my home, District 7.

**Autumn Thorn, District 5. **

Well, the one pro to this whole 'styling' business is that it makes the whole crying on cue routine rather easy: All I have to do is remember the pain as those heavy handed morons tugging that hairbrush through my knotted hair, or the burning sensation as they use hot wax to remove any surplus hair from my body and I can feel tears well up; and is that doesn't work I'll just have to try and remember the awful lecture I was givenregarding 'personal maintenance' or some other gibberish that these Capitolites seem to spout with religious fevour. I mean are they really as stupid as they lead us to believe? Do they really think that the Hunger Games are some form of fashion celebration? Their ignorance is what brings me to tears: tears of anger and frustration. How in Panem am I meant to 'regulate and enforce a personal maintenance programme' when I don't know if I'll be alive in 24 hours time, I don't know if my father's health will hold out until I return home with the medicine he requires plus I'm having to maintain this tedious facade of the weakling, destined to die in the bloodbath so please forgive me if I don't have the time to cleanse, tone and moisturise every hour on the hour. Not that you'd tell I hadn't been pampering myself continously if you could see me now, ready to go and be interviewed or more accurately spoken at as I cry and beg for my life; I inwardly cringe at the thought of the public humiliation I'm willingly exposing myself to, if it weren't for my father's rapidly deteriorating health then I would be at home pitying the 24 tributes but no I am here looking at the Hunger Games, which I once thought was a barbaric display of savagery, as an opportunity to try and make my life at home somehow resemble the normality I knew as a younger girl.

Right now, my prep team and stylist have done all they can, in about half an hour I'm about to be interviewed and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous; but I know I can do this. I know my angle and my stylist has done more than help illuminate that angle: Dainty, fragile and downright weak. The white dress, symbolic of my innocence; for now at least, seeing as I doubt anyone would call me innocent when they see me slit the other tributes throat as they sleep but right now that is irrelevant. I still have my charade to maintain, it was a risky move telling the Gamemakers about my scheme but I couldn't risk them being angered if they discovered and ensuring my death by the hands of another tribute, one of their lethal traps or the jaws of a horrific mutation; I need to win this for Papa, Mama and Twila. I pull myself to my full height, eyeing myself critically in the full length mirror: The chiffon dress falls to my knees but it doesn't cling to my figure, it hangs from my slim frame in such a way it disguises my feminine curves making my figure seem boyish; I look a lot younger than my 17 years wearing this dress, with the white ballet bumps and my auburn hair falling in loose curls to the middle of my back. I lean further forwards and study my face: The porcelain skin appearing smooth, the nude gloss that coats my lips and then my green eyes with the tiniest lashing of mascara. I should applaude my stylist really, she has effectively given me the weapons I need for this stage of my plan.

"You look well Autumn, very weak and fragile which is exactly what you want I presume?" I swing around to face my stylist, Rouge, with her bone white skin and maroon hair and eyes but what is most discomforting thing is they way her lips curl into a vicious grin and her eyes shine with a knowing glint. How? I've maintained this facade perfectly, I was crying so much as she fitted my dress that she had to reapply my mascara twice; she raises her eyebrow, expecting an answer but I'm frozen and speech right now seems like a foreign concept as I lock my gaze with a woman who could potentially hold my life in her hands. I was taking a risk with telling the Gamemakers, but having my stylist know is a totally different playing field.

"Cat got your tongue? Don't worry, I know you're thankful. I think your idea is genius, when my sister told me I just knew I had to help you out. I thought I'd been handed some pathetic tribute who'd die as soon as that gong rang but then I find out you've got a game plan: Drama, love it. I can feel it now, I'm going to be styling for the girl who makes these games the most memorable ever. So I'm here to help out, even if I am irked you didn't tell me: I mean I thought girls and their stylists are meant to be the best of friends." She pouted but her eyes glinted with that calcualting edge that I saw yesterday; their really is a fabulous resemblane between her and the Gamemaker I spoke too. She hands me a tube and I'm completely nonplussed, what is it? I look at her, my steely gaze demanding an answer; she knows I'm not the weepy little girl so I won't waste time simpering and crying in order to get an answer. She sighs, she unstops the lid and holds the weird substance under my eyes which begin to water instantly. I cringe backwards and she grins, the bitch has tried to blind me; I'll kill her.

"Stop floundering around, its just glycerine. I know what its like to have to cry on cue and this helps, I had to be the crying daughter to get what I want: Crimson was always the smartest, the prettiest ..." She continued to rant, I was relieved that I wasn't going to be permanently blind and in a way this would save me a lot of unnecessary pain seeing as constantly crying always gave me a hell of a migraine. So between these two sisters, my path to victory is getting clearer and clearer and I am thankful for that so I decided to nod along with Rouge's seemingly endless rant about Crimson's blatant superiority, trying my hardest to look attentive and I must be an amazing actress as she won't shut up. That is until she sees the clock and grabs my arm, radiating panic.

"Waterworks? Check. Now lets go, we're going to be late. It's almost show time."

**Let us leave it there for now... Next chapter equals INTERVIEWS! Give me a HELL YEAH, or a review either way I'm not fussy :-D**

**But here are some new tributes, sorry we haven't seen many in a while :-S But meet a teenage alcoholic, a sociopath, a Cultured Career, an outspoken feminist and the freespirited sailor.**

**Breeja Tullius (16) District 10 (androidilenya): A girl not concerned with what is happening around her but more so about what her next drink is and where she will come from, living in her own little bubble where her only companion is alcohol. Emotionally volatile at times, crude and aware that her whole life seems to be crumbling down around her; her father turns a blind eye to his troubled daughter's downward spiral into chaos. Will this emotionally vulnerable girl be able to pull herself together in order to survive through the turmoil of the Hunger Games, will she be able to put down the bottle long enough to make an alliance that she knows is crucial to her survival? **

**Argent Grahm (18) District 2 (Audmirable): A Career obsessed with the honour and glory that could be his if he were to win the Hunger Games; hoping his status as a Victor will make people over look the fact he isn't the handsome Career expected to compete in this paegant of valour and strength. Focussed and tactically minded with extensive training and a true appreciation of art and music. But Argent is prone to what some may call 'hyper focus' with his single minded determination to win, would this Cultured Career even notice if someone slipped a knife in his back? Or will his pursuit of honour lead him to the victory he so ardently craves?**

**Bethnia Suttridge (17) District 8 (Retromother): This girl is viciously tenacious, she sets her eyes on what she wants and she will tread on friend, foe or family to get it and she knows what she wants: To be famous, to marry a rich Capitolite and grace the cover of Panem Weekly or Capitol Today and with her beauty she knows she can get it. But an obstacle called the Hunger Games stands in her way, but this sociopath will tear into the competition with her claws, her acidic tongue and any weapon she can get her hands on. So the other tributes had better watch out, this uber bitch has come to win and she'll be damned if she lets someone snatch her girly fantasies from her. Will this ambitious Queen Bee be able to taste the sweet honey of victory? Or will her dreams of fame vanish from before her very eyes?**

**Cian MacNamara (18) District 4 (Dinashadow): The cheeky chappy, the Career who parties hard but trains harder. A freespirit who's mind is prone to wonder, a boy who likes to play by his own rules and try new things but as he grows weary of his Mother berating him to 'grow up' and 'be a man'; somehow his philosophical desire to 'himself' has pushed him into volunteering for the Hunger Games but will he be able to keep his freespirited attitude when he has to fight for his life against 23 other desperate children? Will he be able to win when he enters the arena with the only girl who has ever caught her attention, the only person he could ever call true friend? Will this boy ever 'find himself' or will he die a lost boy?**

**Breanna Riley Erwin (14) District 6 (amo-scribere): A feminist tomboy, with a vicious temper and a tendency for picking fights; loud mouthed and headstrong she makes sure her opinion on every little thing is known. She sees the world for what it is, she refuses to sugar coat anything and is prone to telling things as they are; strong willed and short tempered, Breanne is not the social type: She dislikes arrogance and any one who thinks they should get the world handed to them on a plate for being 'pretty' or 'intelligent'. Will this loudmouth have her voice silenced in the arena? Or will she live another day to make sure her opinions are heard and people are told how it is?**


	44. Give 'Em The Old Razzle Dazzle

**Omg, I've been away for a fair while haven't I? :S So first of all: I AM SORRY! I've literally just been procastinating as though my life depends on it which isn't the most productive thing I admit, but I think it helps boost my creativity: Which is a GOOD thing! So here are the interviews, not everyone will be getting one though...In detail any way, I'm eager cause next chapter is the last:) Yes, as you know I won't be presenting the new tributes till after my current crew begin to drop like flies ;)**

**Oooo...But, I have a little mission for you all: Two great writers are looking for tributes so go SUBMIT!**

**Forms and such are on their profile pages... So go and read and then review and put some smiles on people's faces yeah? Being nice to some of my favourite authors might motivate me to not procastinate as much.**

_**Retromother**_

**(She gave birth to Evan Lawrence, not literally..but a great writer who will help with anything:) if it is help with your plot,tributes or general chit chat)**

_**A Velvet Nightmare**_

**(One of my best friends who has started her first story, she is fabulous despite being a dumb blonde so lets give her some support :))**

**And somehow, I've managed to procastinate again :/**

**Claude Dew, District 2.**

_I am a strong, brutal career: I will kill mercilessly.I am a strong, brutal career: I will kill mercilessly..._

This mantra is playing on loop inside my head, hopefully if I think about this enough there is the slightest chance I may begin to believe it and somehow develop the capabilities to slaughter innocent children without a second thought; for the crux of the matter is pretty simple: I need to become the cold killer I never thought I would be, thanks to the strict training regime implemented in District 2 I am there physically but mentally is a whole new ball game. I take a deep breathe, the advantages to the winning the Hunger Games are becoming more apparent: Even though I am only 18, becoming the Victor will ensure I will have no problems supporting Iris and helping to raise the baby, our baby, my baby. But the Hunger Games are a double edged sword, while my victory would have these advantages I am not naive enough to think there won't be disadvantages. I am not arrogant enough to think that the deaths of my 23 fellow tributes wouldn't haunt my every waking moment but Iris needs me. A claxon rings, it is time to get this show on the road: I stride forward and take my place in the line just before the female from 5 is dragged in, silent tears streaming down her face.

This is the final time al 24 of us tributes will stand together until tomorrow when it begins, maybe it is the fact I face potential death but I cannothelp but tune out the ramblings of my allies: Nicoli's panic about whether anyone will think his elegantly cut silver suit makes him look fat and as Ruby and Kai talk about how pathetic the other tributes are. I can't help but think how many of us will be left standing after the bloodbath sure to occur at the Cornucopia? How many lives will I take by my own hand? Will I fare better than Shine if he were the one to come to the Capitol.. I'll never know.

From the corner of my eye I spot the two 12 year old girls: Livvya and Lacey, wearing fine gowns of lilac and lemon respectively; they appear angelic, able to wear smiles despite the certainty of their fate. To die before they have even lived, and in that moment I admire their courage and how they radiate courage as they hold their heads high when the girl from 5 just weeps but I am also thankful. Thankful for the fact that even if I do die, I 've managed to experience love; seen and experienced things that these two never will. I send a silent prayer that my son or daughter will be born into a district where they will be relatively safe from the Hunger Games: I thank Noah Daniels and his executive decision to open those training academies all those years ago.

I continue to watch the two young girls, mourning the loss of innocence they face when they are joined by the girl from 10, Ginna. She wears a floor length gown of russet coloured silk, her reddish hair styled into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck: Despite her not being conventionally beautiful, there is a majestic grace which is rare amongst those from the livestock district. She turns from her tiny ward who continue to babble, her green eyes turned on me: Hard and as shiny as emeralds, I sub consciously step back. Despite my superior training score, and my training back home I am scared and I find her unwavering glare unnerving. The fierce stare of a lioness who is prepared to defend her cubs, and I'm thankful that she is metaphorically cage for now for there is no doubt in my mind that she could defeat me with relative ease. I turn my back on the trio, intending to take a few moments to calm my nerves and watch my competitors.

"So, you ready Claw?" My district partner decides to turn and address me and it is a rather intriguing sight: Sandy wearing a frilly purple dress with ruffles around her neck, meant to appear as feminine with her dirty blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, but to me she appears as aloof as ever with her arms folded across her chest and a smirk on her face; while Nikki is fretting about his hair and partings, Sandy looks relaxed to the point of boredom as she looks at her manicured nails with a distinct sense of disinterest. It is no secret that her senese of general mystery and apathy will result in a large sum of sponsorship money.

"Fine, just going over my angle and stuff." It is a slight bending of the truth, I am trying to cement my angle into my mind: It just isn't my biggest concern right now. But Sandy must somehow smell the deceit, she rolls her eyes and turns away from me: I let out a huff of frustration. It had to be me that got the district partner who is the human equivalent of a lie detector. But what did she want me to say? How are we supposed to kill 12 year olds? No, I'm scared of dying or maybe I can't believe I might never see my child; I regret volunteering. And the list goes on, the worries continue to swim in my head. In the distance you can hear the distinctive baritone of Ceasar Flickerman, warming up the audience with a plethora of puns and generally clowning around. I feel slightly harassed until the line begins to move, all 24 of us file into the studio and are ushered into chairs that form a semi-circle around the raised platform where the interviews take place.

I glance around to see that everyone is dealing with their nerves in their own way, trying to ease the agitation that in a matter of minutes or hours they will be being interviewed live for the whole of Panem to see: Potentially the last time their friends and families could see them alive when they aren't being mutilated by whatever this years gamemaker's may have planned: Seraphine from 7 is just glaring at anyone who catches her eye and just generally making it known she would rather be anywhere but here, the boy from 11 is wringing his hands continuously and the girl from 6 is teasing her lower lip with her teeth so ferociously I'm surprised she hasn't drawn blood. I'm just sitting here taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the gargantuan audience seated before me, slightly envious of how Sandy sits there surveying her nails: Calm, cool and collected. We hear another claxon sound and we know it is showtime, not from the sound but by the way Ceasar transforms before our very eyes: No longer hyping up the audience, he is now the proffessional TV host wearing his trademark smile and his elaborate make up which this year is a violent shade of violet.

"We've seen them sparkle in the tribute parade, we've seen them shine with their training scores but who are the tributes for the 62nd Hunger Games? Well tonight we'll find out." And from there it begins, Ruby is invited to the stage wearing a dress which alludes to he namesake; a form fitting dress which ends mid thigh which seems to be made of thousands of tiny rubies. There was never a question regarding her angle: Sexy but lethal and judging from her training score, accurate. She purrs throughout her interview, which earns a round of raucous applause from the Capitol's male population; she strokes Ceasar's arm and laughs along with his jokes. But then she pulls out her trump card, in an exaggerated motion she crosses her legs so that the material rides up and shows the black lace garter she wears around her thigh; it may have been a coincidence but I doubt it seeing as she was simpering about how she couldn't think about how she could repay the Capitol for their genorosity. She dismounted the stage to thunderous applause, there were no surprises seeing as she is all that the Capitol wants from their tributes: Beautifully deadly.

Nicoli is next, he waltzes onto the stage,waving and basking in the attention: Nicoli could be seen as annoying, but he simply adores the Capitol. Every little aspect as he begins to tell Ceasar with pure enthusiasm; wine, food, fasion, dance, art. Capitol Culture may as well be Nicoli's God. Nikki and Ceasar build a humorous rapport, bantering about the 'it' colours of this season and whether or not Alma Gaugee's latest couture fashion line was a fashion faux pas. The Capitol adore Nicoli, but I knew they would seeing as he is a lot like them: Vain and a little dim but somehow he appears as simply loveable. He blushes as people roar his name and almost faints when Ceasar tell hims that people have been having surgery to get 'Nikki Dimples'; cultured, humble but skilled is the final impression he leaves. Nicoli comes back to his seat, waving at the audience who are screaming his name in what can only be described as utter adoration when he sits down I chuckle when I note his cheeks are a glowing scarlett.

Sandy makes her way to the stage, every step seems to ooze swagger. Not arrogance, a quiet confidence that screams she is ready for this and she is more than capable; I try to take notice, I smile as she answers Ceasar's seemingly endless stream of questions with sarcastic retorts and shrugs her shoulders. She could have appeared rude but she somehow manages to make it humorous and enigmatic; I would of taken more notice but in a matter of minutes I'll be on that stage, my palms begin to get sweaty and I wipe them along my black trousers. Calming breaths, it'll be as easy as talking to Iris or Shine; I hear the applause and then it is my turn to take the stage. I stand up and my legs feel like jelly, I lift my chin and square my shoulders as I walk towards Ceasar. The audience could be screaming my name and I wouldn't know: By now I am standing next to Ceasar, he holds his hand out and I shake it and suddenly the spell is broken. No longer are the audience drowned out, my senses have returned but seem to be hyper focussed, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

My interview begins as though I am following a script. What do you think of the Capitol? _Your people are very generous, I enjoy every 'aspect' of what the Capitol has to offer_: _The amazing training facilities, the food and above all the level of sophistication that seems to elude the Districts. I imagine that after my victory I would enjoy spending more time in this wonderful city._Are you ready for the games, Claude? _I have dedicated a long time to preparing myself for the eventuality of enetering and then winning the Hunger Games. I am ready for this, eager; I am extremely proud to have been given the honour of representing my district and I intend the bring glory to my District by winning._

Every word is a lie, I sound like a deranged psychopath: Glorifying the games but it is necessary. It's what the Capitol wants to hear, or is it? The audience are clapping politely, but I could tell I wasn't making as much of an impression as my predecessors. I am a manufactured tribute: Robotic and forgettable and it may be an over exaggeration but I feel as though any hope of victory I once had slipping away like sand through my fingers. I can feel panic clawing at my chest, and I'm not pulled from this pull of despair until I hear the pressure of Ceasar's hand on my arm, I shake my head extremely consciousof the fact I've embarrassed myself thoroughly on national TV. The plactating smile on Ceasar's face just confirms this.

"I was asking Claude, what awaits you at home? Is there a potential Mrs Dew?" He winks and I'm thankful that he is still attempting to help me throughout this torturous process; and I am more than thankful he has given me a question I can answer fully and most likely guarentee me some sponsors at least. It may sound manipulative, but this is the Hunger Games and I must twist anything I can to my advantage and I can only hope Iris forgives me for what I am about to do. Simply thinking of my beloved transforms the cruel leer into a smile, a broad smile. Genuine.

"Yes, Ceasar. My heart has belonged to one for many years, and a few months ago the very same girl accepted my offer of engagement." I can feel the audiences interest igniting like a spark of electricity; maybe this interview as I had anticipated. I struggle to hide me smug grin as the audience create a medley of gasps and coos, Ceasar automatically grasps onto this thread of the conversation as though it is a lifeline; and for me it could be.

"Oh, so you have someone to go home for? Tell us a bit more about this wonderful young woman." There have been tributes in love in the past, they hold the attention of the audience but not for long. I need to take this further if I am to utilize the interview to its fullest; I can tell Ceasar desperately needs an answer and that I have very little time remaining. I take deep breathe, it is time to take caution to the wind.

"Yes, she is beautiful and intelligent. She's all I've ever wanted but she needs me now more than ever because although our child may not need me, she will need me to be there. To help raise my child, to be a father." The bell rings to signal the end of my interview, I shake Ceasar's hand who still looks shocked; it takes a few seconds for the audience to process what I had said and then the screams began the applause, the stamping of feet and I can't keep the smile off of my face as I take my seat. Despite the rather slow start, I am confident to say my interview was a resounding success. Iris may be upset that I've effectively spilled our secret to everyone, but I'm sure she'll forgive me when she realises how pivotal it is to potentially saving my life, essential to ensuring we are eventually reunited.

**Kai Thallasa, District 4.**

So Claude has resorted to spilling his most intimate secrets and effectively begging for sponsors; Pathetic, and he calls himself a Career? He is weak, and potentially stealing my sponsors with his poorly executed sob story. But that doesn't concern me, his attention seeking ways will only keep in him in the limelight for so long. People remember the best, people wish to sponsor the best and as I've proved with my training score: I am the best, Ruby may have equalled my score but when the time comes I will eliminate her. Sexist or not, she is a weak female and I will overpower her. The 'sympathy' that Claude has created has not only spread throughout the audience like a ripple through the ocean; it has spread like a vicious virus and infected the tributes. Well the tributes who are weak enough to allow something as trivial as his declaration to effect them.

"Oh my.." I turn to see my disgrace of a district partner, dainty hand held against her mouth and tears welling in her vivid green eyes as she thinks about the nondescript boy from 2 and his 'precious baby'. As expected, weak and despicable; allowing her emotions to rule. She may have managed to stand out in the Chariot Rides and embarrass me, she dared to achieve a high training score although I surpassed her easily but she is essentially a weak creature: Physically, and judging by this pointless emotional response to one of her opponents she is also emotionally fragile. These things are good to know, and things can only get worse: When she sees how much the Capitol adore me, how my interview will blow her tiresome facade of hair twirling and pouting her lips out of the water. It will shatter any shred of confidence she has managed to cling to; completely broken and ready for me to play with, to mutilate: To annihalate.

She turns to look at me, tears gone and a smirk on her lips: She winks, I almost lunge at the creature; how dare she have the audacity to wink at me. To try and humiliate me, but I hold onto myself control. I am a career, I am disciplined and will not indulge in trivial mind games with her; to react would imply that whatever this harpy can do it bothers me and frankly it doesn't. Instead I give her a threatening grin, baring my teeth like a savage animal I am tempted to snarl but I hold it back but the unspoken promise remains: Tomorrow morning, the bloodthirsty beast inside of me will become unleashed and this little witch will be dead by my hands. She turns her attention back to the platform, where the ginger girl is taking a seat.

Her interview is nothing worthy of note, but I listen: Somehow, this girl scored an 8 so she may be a threat. All I notice is that periodically she brushes her skirt with her hands and pushes her glasses further up her nose as if she is agitated; as for what she says it seems to be mindless drivel about calculating average training scores and how her score is higher than the average and about cross multiplacation gives you the square pi or something of the other; so she is smart but isn't every tribute from District 3, I may not be a mathematical genius but I devoted my time to learning worthwhile things: Making sure I am equipped with the skills required to become a Victor, what else would you need to learn? All I know is that she hasn't told us how she got that 8, only time will tell and thats only if I don't slaughter her first. Her interview concludes with a polite round of applause and then she reaches forward and straighten Ceasar's tie before leaving the stage briskly but I notice all the tension has fled from her shoulders and she looks a lot more relaxed although her cheeks are tinged with the palest of pinks. Curious.

Up next is Ginger's district partner, I can already feel my attention fading as he awkwardly shuffles onto the stage and fiddles with the sleeve of his electric blue blazer constantly. I would be ashamed to admit this waste of space was representing my district, scrawny and fragile: Where is his honour, his pride? He will perish tomorrow, his life I realise is pointless as I watch him fumble his way through his interview. Thanking the Capitol profusely for their hospitality; thanking them for their genorosity and then mumbling about how different it is from home where he lives in poverty. His feeble attempts to gain sympathy have failed; we all know it as he stumbles from the stage he has secured no sponsors, he has not proven himself to be what the Capitol wants from a Victor. Spineless scum, maybe I will grant him a quick and merciful death at the tip of my spear or maybe not; maybe I will torture him for hours on end for his complete cowardice. Unfortunately I don't have the time to waste on fantasising how I would destroy the pitiful excuse for a tribute from 3 as my very own district partner has stood up.

"Don't trip" I spit at her with as much malice as possible, but maintaining a pleasant expression seeing as I have cameras on me right now; But I feel triumph well in my chest as her smile falters, even if only momentarily. She then plasters on her 'winning' smile and waltzes over to the platform,waving and blowing kisses like the pathetic little girl she is; but somehow the Capitol love it, chanting her name and blowing kisses in return which she mimes catching and presses her hand against her chest. Admitting this leaves a bitter taste on my tongue, but somehow this girl knows how to work an audience but sadly for her, I'm just that much better. She gets onstage, gives the customary 'air kiss' to Ceasar who responds enthusiastically before twirling so that her turquoise chiffon dress lifts into the air gracefully like the foam that floats above the ocean in District 4. The audience clap, screaming in glee as she curtsies: How very Capitol of the little witch? She finally takes her seat but continues to wave and wink at random members of the audience. As soon as the audience quietens down,Ceasar immediately begins with the questions.

"Bala, Bala. First of all you look as wonderful as ever but what we're most curious about is that training score; How did one of our youngest tributes get one of the highest scores?" You could hear a pin drop, this was obviously a source of curiosity for many; myself included, almost every tribute is paying rapt attention. From my view point I can just make out the wicked glint in her eyes, the cheeky smirk and I almost growl: Before she opens her mouth I can tell she won't give Ceasar a straight answer no matter how persistent he may be.

"Oh, Ceasar. You should know that a girl never puts all her cards on the table but I think it is safe enough to say I have a few tricks up my sleeve to keep everyone else on there toes." Ceasar is nodding understandingly and the audience gasp in surprise, but I almost laugh at her cheap tactics: Trying to keep the interest on her for as long as possible seeing as soon as I step foot on that stage everybody else will be forgotten.

"Clever move Bala, so tell us about your life back in District 4 and how it compares to here in the Capitol." A sly smirk makes its way onto my face; what is she meant to say? Me and my witch mother are the most hated citizens in District 4, ha. As soon as the audience realise how despicable she is, any interest will disappear. You can see the question has gotten to her, her eyes are trained on the floor and Ceasar places a comforting hand on her back.

"Sorry Ceasar, everybody. I'm not that popular back home, but maybe that will change if I return as Victor. I can't wait to see the ocean again but I'm praying that somehow I can call the Capitol my home. I love it here, I've tasted popularity and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want a little bit more. I mean, without the Capitol I would never have had the chance to meet my charming districts partner Kai." Any sadness is gone by the time she says my name, replaced by a sarcastic quirk of her lips and a mocking glint in her eyes. She has the audience eating out of her hand and now she is trying to humiliate me: Blind rage sears my veins as she raises her hand to wave at me, but I maintain my emotionless mask. I want to tear her limb from limb but I am on camera, the audience are chuckling along with Bala so I raise my hand and wave back; responding to her little challenge. The laughter dies on her lips and her balls are fisted at her sides. Won't she learn? No matter what she does, she'll never be able to beat me. She storms from the stage, her bubbly exterior beginning to show cracks as she waves. She sits next to me, flushed with obvious anger.

"Please fall." The sickly sweet smile fixed on her face, just in case there are any cameras nearby; I just grin and place what people would perceive to be a friendly hand on her back and I feel the megre muscles she possesses tense in anticipation for an attack. I proceed to give her a few 'friendly'pats on the back but I note how she bites her lips to stop her whimper of pain, her reactions puts a real smile on my face. As I stand up I turn to her.

"Don't worry Bala. I'll show you how it's really done." Before I strut towards the stage, into the spotlight to make sure that everyone across Panem will remember the name Kai Thallasa.

**Seraphine Connoly, District 7.**

Today has been one of the worst days in my bloody life, I am simply sick and tired of all this bullshit. Why on God's green Earth have they got us prancing around like witless fairies? When all they want is for us to be thrown into the arena and hack one another to pieces like savages; this might sound bloodthirsty but I think it would have been a hell of a lot easier to just throw us into the arena and said be done with it as soon as we stepped off those trains. I mean, why are we bothering to try and sugarcoat it? I mean the hours of 'prep' were pointless; in fact I'd liken today to some prolonged torture seeing as I've ended up in a navy blue dress that is so tight I can hardly breathe and being forced into a 'thong' which I thick resembles some elaborate form of dental floss or bondage gear which has just given me an awful wedgie. I tried to tell my gormless prep team that I didn't give a flying fuck about VPL, but they wouldn't have any of it: The bastards practically held me down, stripped me and forced me into this ugly gown thing that pushes my breasts under my chin and makes me feel as though someoneis trying to squash me so that I throw up a lung or two. This bloody 'beautification process ' is nothing short of sexual assault in my eyes, and grevious bodily harm; If I win, I swear that I'll sue each and every one of them for every penny they are worth.

What's even worse is that twat Kai onstage, if it weren't for me having to exemplify 'Capitol etiquette' I 'd ask someone for a barf bag; Honestly, did they go picking up prostitutes for Careers this year? He babbles on about being the best and training and being the best and the Capitol and how beautiful the women here are, and you've guessed it: Being the best. If his ego were a weapon, we'd all be long gone by now and then he has to take it that bit further; standing up and showing off his biceps. What a dickhead? I mean what is this some messed strip tease, oh God: Let this end now, he is blabbering on about it being hot and unbuttoning the buttons to his shirt but the worst is the way he is staring into the audience in what he must think is a seductive manner: It is too much, I put my fist in my mouth to stop myself laughing at the twat. When his interview comes to an end, thankfully, I have to remain seated although I'd love to fall to my knees and thank whichever deity granted us the small mercy of shutting him the fuck up.

District 5 is next, the girl as expected kind of cried throughout the interview; I mean by the sounds of it, and this is what I managed to gather between the hysterical sobs and pointless pleading, her dad is pretty much about to die. Not a nice thought, but no one is listening; they've written her off but something is telling me she shouldn't be counted out yet: By the sounds of it, she has a lot to fight for and people can do extraordinary things when they have something to fight for. I mean, everyone else: Tribute, audience and even Flickerman look disinterested. I mean is it only me that would rather than listen to her sobbing than that silly bint Ruby? I mean I understand the sexy angle, but what she may as well have done is opened her legs and screamed 'free for all' the dirty bitch. Sadly, she will get sponsored because you can be sure as hell that there are a few sick bastards who'd want her to win for 'personal reasons'. I felt like shouting out: Cut the bullshit Ruby, just tell them you'll have sex with them if they sponsor you, some of these dimwits may not understand your not so subtle implication.

Maybe I have an attention disorder, but I can feel my attention slipping away as the boy from 5 gets onstage with those big grey eyes, there is something creepy about him: Not creepy, but something a little unsettling to say the least. I mean he seem amiable from his talking about healing and working with his mother but my hairs are standing on end as if he is implying something and it isn't until the last line of his interview that I begin to see that this healer boy is about as much of a pacifist as I am a blonde bimbo: "Ceasar, I wouldn't count me out yet: I know the human body well, its weaknesses. How it works and how to exploit it.I haven't taken the Healer's Oath yet so I am not bound to only concern myself with alleviating pain." As I said, creepy and he is on my radar: I mean, for all I know he could turn into one of those crackpots who turn into a cannabilistic serial killer. I shiver, and it isn't cold under this stage lighting whatsoever; Asher tries to catch my eye. Concerned about me as per usual? Annoying doofus, I just shrug my shoulders which seems to appease him: If I can take the time to be dismissive then I must be OK in Asherland.

Next is that little fairyesque girl from 6, Dari or something. Gobsmacked is how she leaves the audience, I would be cheering but I just can't process it; I mean she doesn't try and hide the religious vibe at all and hey I say each to ones own on the concept of religion but I didn't think she's go as far as to ignore the 'interview' element. I mean, it was a 3 minute sermon about The Valley of Shadow and forgiveness and the Lord and God knows what else but absolutely everybody's face was a picture when she told the Capitol she forgives them and she hopes they repent. You hear about tributes going mad, and this girl is one of those or she's courageous but stupid. I don't know anything apart from the fact that the likelihood of her surviving these games is below 0, actually it is the minuses. On the other hand, while Dari couldn't shut up; getting her district partner to speak was like getting blood from a stone. Practically impossible, all he did was shrug his shoulders and give one word answers: It was incredibly awkward watching Ceasar try and bait the brooding boy into actually elaborating on his answers. Once his 3 minutes are up everyone seems to be glad it is over, but I've got an eye on him too: It wouldn't surprise me if he was a ninja and just trying to fade into the background, well that won't be happening on my watch. I feel someone nudging me in the back, I spin my head so fast I am surprised I haven't dislocated something: Asher is nodding towards the platform. Shit, it's my turn.

I stand up and wobble all over the place, I tried to tell my stylist these were a bad idea. Oh fuck it, I slip my stiletto's off and march over to the platform and giggle cheekily when I hold my stiletto's up to the audience who laugh good naturedly while I smile like a complete bimbo. Yay. Ceasar does the shaking of my hand and babbles on about my dress and I bite my tongue: No Sera, you will not tell an icon of Panem to shut up. So, I twirl my hair and give a breathy laugh or whatever it is that girly girls do; I've been on the platform a matter of ten seconds when I think 'screw this'. If I win this, I won't be a simpering twat I'll be Sera. So I'll give them Sera now.

"So Seraphine, what do you think of the Capitol?" Oh, does he want me to give him a truthful answer: Well you all look like twats with stupid hair, the food is good but it is hard to be excited when you're all gagging for me to be raised like a pig to slaughter or turn into a killing machine. Somehow I don't think that would come across well so maybe an entirely truthful answer wouldn't be the best solution.

"Oh Ceasar, I was really enjoying training. Beating the hell out of dummies was cathartic to say the least but somehow I ended up almost drowning in the stupidly large ego's of some of my fellow tributes: Namely the arrogant berk Kai and his little skank...Ruby is it? Or some other ridiculous name like Dazzle or Peridot." My response actually causes quite a stir, mutterings and even draws a few laughs. Ceasar looks a little shocked while he tries to collect his wits, I don't think there is a time in Hunger Games history when the interviewer was rendered speechless.

"Oh Sera, you've got a great score but it may not be the wisest move to ruffle other tributes feathers." He is laughing along but I know he is trying to paint me as some mentally handicapped tribute so I wave my hand at him. I swivel around and grin when I see both Kai and Ruby glaring at me, their faces puce from anger and embarrassment: Careers don't seem as calm and collected now. I just give them a salute and you can practically hear their teeth grinding: Idiots.

"Don't worry about me Ceasar, I'm a big girl and I did promise you a good show after all: The way I look at it, they can glare as much as they like cause I'm not going to walk on egg shells cause they will try and kill me either way." The audience are laughing like lunatics, loving the 'drama' of it as much as an addict loves their morphling fix. Well, it can't get much worse can it: At least I may get some sponsors. Ceasar is trying to calm down the audience who seem to be screaming my name, Kai and Ruby. Well, I did say I would be the shows leading lady: Mission accomplished.

"Seraphine, we only have a few seconds left is there anything you'd like to say?"

"Oh, only that being ginger; I have a soul, but unfortunately I have fair skin. I'm pretty sensitive to sunlight,so if any generous sponsors out there wouldn't mind sending me some sunscreen I'd be eternally grateful. I mean, I wouldn't mind getting a nice tan because a tanned Victor is a lot better than one who resembles a lobster." I wink toward the audience, before throwing my stilletto's to a teenager in the front row: Maybe she'll be able to find a use for them other than as a deathtrap. Sera the Sarcastic, I'll have that put on my gravestone but as I make my way back to the seat I can't squish the feeling of hope inside of me that I won't end up in a grave any time soon.

**I'm off out, so I left it here: Next chapter will be last night/lauch and the rest of the interviews. :D I'll update soon :)**

**REVIEW**


End file.
